Odi Et Amo
by Iphigenia1
Summary: Set in a pre-Harry Hogwarts(1989), our story concerns Severus Snape and his love of philosophy, his friendship with a mysterious Dr. Sylvia Oliver, a beautiful interim Divination Professor, and morning jogs.
1. This Muggle Philosophy

Odi et Amo

By Iphigenia

_"__Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior__"__ -- Catullus_

Severus Snape glanced about him furtively, then dashed into the bookstore. It was a Muggle bookstore, part of some large corporate chain, and Londoners of every variety wandered aimlessly down the numerous rows looking for the answers to life's problems that they only hoped a jaunt into some piece of fine literature would bring them. 

Snape was dressed in Muggle clothing—slacks and a collared shirt—yet he was still the hapless victim of many a curious look, and he kept glancing down at his ensemble, wondering what he had done wrong. Or could it be his hair that they were all staring at? It was long, but he knew that some Muggle men wore it long. He looked around desperately for a long locked compatriot, but found none. Obviously this was an area of town where men did not go for that fashion. He also had the sneaking suspicion that his nose was drawing some attention. 

Ignoring the looks as best he could, he made his way straight for the philosophy section, and began to peruse the offerings. He picked up Plato's Phaedo and put it down, as if debating whether or not he should buy it. Muggle philosophy fascinated him, and it was a guilty pleasure. In fact, philosophy was the reason he had snuck into this bookstore, and the Muggle world. His room at Hogwarts was home to a hidden shelf of philosophy books, packed in tightly because there was not room enough for all of them. 

He had first found himself addicted to this strange Muggle obsession when he traveled to Greece for a summer holiday. He had been there half for rest and relaxation, half because he had needed to get away; it hadn't been so long at that time since Voldemort had lost his powers, and somewhere deep inside of himself he had been afraid that the man was coming back. He had wanted to go as far away as he could afford. He had passed himself off as a Muggle for added safety and had avoided the Grecian magical community. 

He had gazed up at the might of the Acropolis, and had heard a tour guide telling a group that this was "the cornerstone of Western civilization, and the birthplace of philosophy. Socrates himself walked here, and Plato, and Aristotle, and many others." He had had no idea what philosophy was, but on a lark, he had discovered a tiny bookstore and bought a copy of the Republic. He had been fascinated by it, and his fascination had not ceased until this day. 

He stood before the shelves of books, ruefully trying to choose between Kierkegaard and Nietzsche. He picked up Fear and Trembling to look through it, and then Thus Spake Zarathustra so he could compare the two. 

"Oh, by all means, the Kierkegaard," said a woman with an American accent behind him. "It's infinitely more cheerful."

He turned to glare at her. "Thanks," he said curtly, "But I can decide which one I want myself."

"Excuse me," she replied, matching him glare for glare right in the eyes, for she was as tall as he, "You just seemed a tad indecisive and I thought I might help. I have read them both, you know."

"Good for you," he answered with clenched teeth. "I just don't need your help."

"Suit yourself," she said, shrugging, and turned to look at the books opposite him. 

A few moments later, he heard her muttering, "If Augustine was neo-Platonic and Aquinas was neo-Aristotelian then how does the Church reconcile the two very different beliefs about the nature of the world and the transitory nature of the—"

"Sorry," he said, turning around again to make her stop. "Do you mind? I _am _trying to make a decision here."

She whirled to face him with gray eyes full of malice. "Look," she said, "I am from the American South, and people there, even if they are just pretending, are at least falsely nice. Is that really too hard for you to do so as well?"

"It seems like it's hard for you," he said triumphantly, and she shut her mouth with obvious distaste and then opened it again, as if trying to decide what she should say. 

At this point she was saved from such hard decisions by an old man who was walking purposely towards her. "Do you want to buy anything, honey?" he asked, also in that annoying American accent. "It's near time for us to be getting on to Diagon Alley."

Snape's eyes grew wide at this point. "I beg your pardon," he said sweetly to the old man, as if making a point to the girl. "But did you say that you were going to Diagon Alley?"

"Not so loudly, if you please. We don't want the Muggles hearing us," the old man responded. 

"Then are you…one of us?" Snape asked, feeling as if he had swallowed a rock. He didn't want other wizards to know about his secret. 

"Oh my soul, you're not one of them, too, are you?" the girl said, clearly irritated. "Because that's just perfect, just brilliant, if you are."

"I teach at Hogwarts," he said to the old man, intentionally ignoring the girl. 

"Wonderful! Would you see us there? This one's little brother got his letter last month, and we're going to buy the school supplies."

"Yes, I can take you there," Snape answered. "Give me a minute to buy one of these books and we'll go straightaway."

He was clearly flummoxed about which one to choose still, and the girl snatched the Kierkegaard out of his hand. "Come on, I'll buy this for you," she snapped. "You can get both."

As he led them to the back of the Leaky Cauldron, he learned that the old man's name was Ulysses Oliver, and the girl's, his granddaughter, was Sylvia Oliver. The boy accompanying them was Grayson Oliver, a small redheaded boy that looked distinctly mischievous. 

Finally they arrived at Diagon Alley, but at the man's insistence Snape was still not able to take his leave of them; Ulysses simply pleaded that he would also show them how to reach Platform Nine and Three Quarters (as term started the next day), and could Snape refuse? 

This was how he (quite unfortunately) found himself eating peanut butter apple ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor with Sylvia Oliver, and every few minutes turning to glare daggers at Hogwarts students who were passing by, pointing and laughing at him. 

"You know," said Sylvia, after he had done this not a few times, "you really do look intimidating in those robes. If I were a poor student of yours, I might consider dropping your class."

"Potions is required," he said curtly. "By the way, Ms. Oliver—"

"Dr. Oliver," she corrected with a bit of pride. 

"Dr. Oliver," he continued, "where was it that you went to school? I don't remember you at Hogwarts, at least not with that unbearable American accent. And how old are you?" He had been unable to determine this of yet; she looked like she was in her twenties but somehow ageless at the same time. 

"I went to Brown for my undergrad, Harvard for my grad, and the University of North Carolina for my Ph.D., with a short stint in between at the American Academy at Rome."

"Then—then you weren't in a magical school?" he asked, slightly unnerved, and also noting that she had not given her age. Perhaps it was a sensitive subject. 

"Oh heavens, no! Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"But you are a…a witch, aren't you?"

"Please. Would I bother myself with such things?"

He rolled his eyes. "Being in Diagon Alley suggests to me that you would bother with such things. And this whole time I thought you were a witch."

"Is it really that big of a deal if I am or not?" she asked defensively. 

"Good lord, you're hard to talk to," he said, his voice rising in anger. 

"And why's that? Just because I'm not like you?" she snapped. 

"Are you trying to take everything I say and twist it?" he asked. "You're doing a good job at it, if so, and I would like to add that-- 

"Severus," an unctuous male voice interrupted mercifully. Snape turned and saw Lucius Malfoy, former Death Eater. Certainly he couldn't know Snape's secret? "How are you, my dear man?"

"Lucius," he replied with something akin to a sneer, but he also rose graciously to shake the man's hand. After all, politics was politics. "It's so good to see you. How is Narcissa? Well, I hope?"

"Very well. Have you met our son, Draco? He's eight. We hope he'll be getting his letter to Hogwarts in a few years."

"I look forward to seeing him there," Snape said, giving Lucius a forced smile. 

"Now, Severus, who is this lovely woman with you?" Lucius asked, moving forward to greet Sylvia. "Don't tell me you've finally found someone to settle down with."

"Hardly," Snape said nastily. "This lovely woman is a Muggle. You don't think I would sink so low, do you?"

"I think that that was a bit presumptuous of a thing to say," Sylvia interjected, standing up, hands on hips, to face him angrily. "As a matter of fact, I'm not a Muggle in the least." 

"You seem familiar," Lucius said, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Have we met?"

  
"We might have," she answered warmly, taking the proffered hand. "I have a few friends here in Britain that I visit once in a while. The name's Sylvia Oliver, it's good to meet you, uh…"

"Lucius Malfoy. Well, Severus, it was charming to get to talk with you, and Sylvia, I hope we meet again, but I must be going. Good day." With that, he walked off briskly towards Knockturn Alley, as the two companions resumed eating their ice cream. 

"And I am a Muggle because…?" Sylvia wanted to know. 

"Because you told me you were not a witch! And that makes you a Muggle," Snape snarled, embarrassed and angry. 

"I never said that I wasn't a witch, my dear. I said I didn't bother with such things. I got a letter from Hogwarts, you know, my mother is British and she attended school there. I just decided that it was not the path I wanted to take."  
  


"Fascinating," Snape said dryly. "I've never heard of a witch who decided not to nurture her powers."

"Ah…well…" she said uncomfortably, looking away from him. 

"What are you doing in Britain now, Dr. Oliver?"

"Unfortunately for you, Master Snape, I am going to be at Hogwarts this year," she answered. 

"Really. And what for? Don't tell me we've become so desperate that we're hiring the likes of you for teachers?"

She ignored his gibe. "I think not," she replied. "Albus Dumbledore has asked me to come. I will be doing an archeological study of the grounds with a few of my assistants. This is what I have my doctorate in—that, and Greco-Roman Studies."

"Why is it that Dumbledore would want an archeological study of the grounds?" he asked, curious. 

"Trust me, he believes that there are quite a few things of value buried in that earth," she said rather mysteriously. "But what has my grandfather done? I'm sure you have pre-term meetings you need to make, not to mention a few philosophy books to read."

"Yes…about those…" he said uneasily. 

"I know. They don't exist, right?" she responded, smiling a bit. 

"Absolutely," he answered, relieved. 

"But you had better be nice to me, because blackmail is a precious gift," she warned. "Now, why don't you tell me how to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and I'll relay the information. Then you can leave us."

"In between platform nine and platform ten, there is a solid barrier," he explained. "Just walk through it, and pretend it isn't solid. It's really all very easy."

"I see. Thank you so much for your time, Severus. I trust I'll be seeing you again soon."

"Unfortunately," he muttered. He had already decided that he didn't like this woman very much. Her manner was simply infuriating. 

"What was that you said?" she asked a bit frostily. 

"Oh…nothing," he answered hastily. 

"Hmm," she said in a tone implying that she had heard him. "Best be on your way, Master Snape. Please leave." Now her voice was more than a bit frosty. 

"Gladly," he replied, whirling about and disapparating into the air with a little pop. The less he saw of her, the better.


	2. Cassandra and Sevy

Chapter Two 

Okay, guys, I realized that the chapters were much too short, and so I have combined several of them, meaning that we have now lost two chapters—but I'll write quick, and we'll gain them back in no time. Hope this doesn't disturb y'all deeply.

**Chapter Two**

When he arrived for the pre-term staff meeting, he saw Dumbledore waiting for him with a look of disquiet in his eyes. Unnerved by this, he walked closer to the headmaster and peered at him curiously.

"Severus, where have you been?" Dumbledore asked.

"I met a family in the Leaky Cauldron and showed them around Diagon Alley," Snape said nervously, not wanting to divulge his secret. "The boy will be attending school here."

"Grayson Oliver?" Dumbledore surmised, and Snape nodded. Sometimes he found this ability of the headmaster's to be a bit disconcerting. "Tell me, did you also meet his…his sister?"

"Do you mean Sylvia Oliver? Yes I did. She tells me that she will be here doing an archeological survey?" Snape said, putting more than a hint of question in his voice. He found this all very baffling.

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply, the disquiet coming back to his eyes. "Dr. Oliver has her own reasons for coming to Hogwarts, as well as my reasons. I trust you will help make her stay comfortable."

"Of—of course, Headmaster," Snape said, stammering a bit, for the two had just walked into the staff room, and Snape was staring at the most beautiful woman he had yet to see in his thirty years. She was stunning, with auburn hair and bright green eyes, and she was deep in conversation with tiny Flitwick, who seemed a bit dazed. Snape sat down, still gaping at her.

"Welcome back, everyone!" Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together to begin their meeting. "I would like to introduce our new Divination Professor, Cassandra Vablatsky. She will be filling in this year for Professor Trelawney."

"Yes," Cassandra said, her voice clear and loud in the room, "Sibyll read the signs well and realized that this year had the potential to wreak havoc in her life. She decided it would be best to take the year off, and asked me to step in. I was glad to do so." Several of the teachers were glaring at Cassandra, McGonagall in particular. They didn't put much stock in divination, and never had.

"Miss Vablatsky," Snape interjected, giving her a smile, "didn't you write our textbook for the course, Unfogging the Future? You seem very young to have accomplished so much."

"Yes, the Sight came to me very early in life and I have been able to use it well," she answered.

"And we are all glad to have you with us," Dumbledore said, bringing the meeting back to order, and continuing with his business.

He caught up with Cassandra as she left the staff-room. 

"It really is so good to have you here," he said, in what he hoped was a charming voice. "I am a bit rusty on Divination; perhaps you could give me a few pointers."

"Oh, I would love to," she said a bit distractedly. "And you are the Potions Master, aren't you? There's actually a bewitching potion that I was trying to remember the ingredients to yesterday and I was totally lost." She smiled, and he suddenly felt weak. "Could you help me?"

"Yes—yes of course," he answered, realizing that this year at Hogwarts would be far from boring.

*******

"Sevy! Hey, is that you? How are you?"

This was the odious sound to which Snape was forced to respond on September 1, the day on which the students were on their way to Hogwarts via the train. He turned slowly in the direction of the voice, hoping against hope it wasn't who he thought it was. But to whom else would an American accent belong? There was Dr. Sylvia Oliver, dressed in pale lavender robes and smiling almost sickeningly at him.

"My name," he said between clenched teeth, "is Severus Snape, master of this school. I would prefer it if you called me Professor Snape. Even Severus would be better than that—that—that misnomer that you just used."

"Sevy," she said, laughing, "I didn't ask for your permission! I'm going to use it anyway."

"Don't expect me to respond," he snapped, turning on his heel and heading for the dungeons.

"I don't!" she called after him. "See you at the feast!"

As the teachers sat waiting for the feast to commence that night, he sat alternately openly admiring Cassandra Vablatsky, and receiving disgusted looks from the rest of the faculty. Sylvia Oliver, deep in a quiet conversation with Dumbledore, would look over at him occasionally, and Snape had the distinct feeling that they were discussing him. Eventually, the first years came in for the sorting, Grayson Oliver was placed in Ravenclaw, and three students who screamed "headache", Fred and George Weasley, and Lee Jordan, were sorted into Gryffindor. 

"Welcome all," Dumbledore said. "Before we begin, I want to introduce you to our new Divination teacher, Cassandra Vablatsky." Here most of the older boys began to cheer, as she smiled and raised her hand in greeting. "We also have with us Dr. Sylvia Oliver, who will be conducting an archeological survey of the grounds with her assistants. She would love for you to watch them dig, but asks that you not contaminate the sites. With that said, eat! Drink! And be merry!"

"For tomorrow we die," murmured Sylvia, giving Snape a meaningful look.

"What's that?" he asked, a bit unnerved at her statement.

"It doesn't matter," she responded, giving him an obligatory smile.

When Snape faced his first-years, a Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match up, the next day, it was with a certain bitterness. He thought that he wouldn't mind the ignorance of the students near as much if he were teaching them Defense Against the Dark Arts. But that was Professor Elysia's job, and she did an excellent job at it. Perhaps when she was gone—she was old, she would have to retire soon—Dumbledore would give him the job. After all, he knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone else at the school.

"I am here," he said softly to the awed first-years, "to teach you the art of brewing potions, an art many witches and wizards fail to possess. I want you to understand the delicacy of the perfect ingredients meeting in the perfect combination, to kill, to extend life, to give capabilities that you have never dreamed of before. If you are able to concentrate, you can learn much from me. If not, I will hold it very much in your disfavor." He continued his speech, detailing the best ways to brew potions until the bell rung. He saw the two Weasleys and Lee Jordan still in their seats, apparently planning some mischief.

With a spring in his step (he was feeling vindictive today, and wouldn't mind a nice punishment), he began to walk towards them, but was startlingly upset in this task by the entrance of Dr. Oliver. She breezed into the room, dressed in a tank top and shorts, every inch of her covered with dust, from her frosty brown hair to her well-meaning Nikes. 

"Grayson," she said excitedly, giving him a hug. "How was your first day? Are you happy you came here?" She didn't seem to realize that the entire roomful of students was staring at her. In the wizarding community, robes were worn almost all the time, and to see someone with this much skin exposed was a little shocking.

"Come on, Sylv," he muttered, his face bright red, "Knock it off. I can do fine by myself, I don't need you checking up on me."

"You can check up on us!" one of the Weasley boys offered.

Sylvia turned, a smile lighting up her face. "Wonderful," she proclaimed. "I need someone to mother."

From the looks that the twins were now giving, it did not seem that they wanted to be mothered. Snape stopped this exchange with a curt, "Out!" and they fled. Sylvia began to follow.

"Oh, no, no, Dr. Oliver," he said silkily, "I would like to speak with you for a moment; please do stay."

She turned curiously, and the look in her eyes was almost evil. "What is that you want, Professor Snape?" she asked, in the same silky tone that he had employed.

He was taken aback, and stepped toward his desk a little nervously. "I merely wanted to say a word about your clothing. I know things are different in your world," he said a bit contemptuously, "but I believe that the manner in which you are dressed is not respectful to the authority of the school."

The look that had been in her eyes faded and she laughed merrily. "Oh, Sevy, that's so wonderful! 'The manner in which you are dressed is not respectful to the authority of the school.' Positively wonderful! However, it's so hot outside, and if you had the sun baking you all day, you wouldn't want to work in robes. I'll change when I come back in the school, though, don't worry. 'The authority of the school', really." She left, still laughing heartily. 


	3. Dr. Oliver and Salazar

Chapter Three 

**Chapter Three**

Over the next few weeks Snape tried his best to get Cassandra Vablatsky to pay him some interest, but it seemed it was to no avail. Every time he met her in the hall, she ended the conversation quickly, and if he sought her out in the Divination Tower, she was too busy working on something to be disturbed. He was beginning to wonder if he repulsed her. He wouldn't be surprised…

With these disturbing thoughts in mind, he stormed down the corridors on a Saturday night, taking points away from anyone who was out of their Commons. He felt a certain twinge of excitement at another possible punishment when he heard voices up near the Great Hall ahead, but his face fell when he recognized him.

"You should probably be going back to your Commons, Grayson," Dr. Oliver was saying, "It's getting late."

"See ya, Sylv," he heard the boy call, and when he walked into the large open entrance hall it was deserted except for the American academic, who was walking along slowly while reading from a book. He noted that she was dressed in robes.

He tried to sneak past her (for the last thing he wanted was to attract her attention at a time when he was feeling so nasty), but she heard his footsteps and looked up from her book. "Sevy!" she cried, apparently delighted. "What are you doing? I have something to show you, anyway," she continued, not letting him answer the question.

"By all means, show it," he said a bit curtly, hoping to throw her off, but he knew that it took more than a curt tone to do so.

She presented the book she was reading for his inspection. "It's Rousseau's Social Contract," she explained. "I'm re-reading it, and it's every bit as good. Have you been through it?"

Eager as he was to get away from her, he could not help but feel exhilarated at the prospect of discussing philosophy. "Not yet," he admitted. "I'm still working through the Nietzsche."

"Gloomy stuff, isn't it?" she said, making a face.

"I think it's realistic," he proclaimed.

"Then I feel sorry for you," she replied. "What did you think of Kierkegaard?"

"I haven't had time to get to him yet, actually. I've been very busy this month."

"Yes, so have I. Do you happen to have a copy of Sartre's On Being and Nothingness?" she asked. "I have been looking for mine and I think I have lost it."

"I think I have one stashed away somewhere," he said, smiling for the first time. This was what philosophy did to him.

"Could I borrow it? I'll treat it well, I promise."

"By all means, yes," he said politely. "Come with me and I'll get it for you."

They proceeded down towards the dungeons where Snape made his home, and she did her best to keep the conversation going.

"Tell me, do you like it down here?" she asked as they descended into the cold and dimly lit depths.

"It suits me," he said simply. Sometimes he wished that it didn't.

"You are a typical Nietzsche fan, aren't you?" she said. "Always dressed in black, living in dungeons…I bet Friedrich never had so much fun in his life!"

"My classroom is down here. I live near it for a reason," he said peevishly, his bad mood beginning to come back.

"Don't get angry, Sevy," she soothed. "I was only joking, for heaven's sake."

"Here we are," he proclaimed, breaking the spell that had sealed his door. They walked through the office into his living quarters.

"Cheery place you've got here," Sylvia said dryly, looking about at the dark stone walls and his four-poster bed with the black hangings. The few pictures in the room were glum and depressing—a woman in mourning who seemed to be crying, a man slaying a dragon realistically, and a large portrait of Salazar Slytherin, blinking down on them menacingly.

"You don't like it?" he asked sarcastically, but she didn't respond. She was staring at the picture of Slytherin with her hand clutched to her breast. "Dr. Oliver? Are you all right?"

"All right?" she repeated, as if coming out of a trance. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Anyway, where is the book? I'll get it from you and then leave you to your own devices."

"Now this is what I'm proud of," he said quickly, trying to change the subject. He demonstrated to her the spell he used to reveal his hidden bookcase, crammed with books of every size and shape.

"Amazing," she breathed. "Sevy, you are obsessed!"

"You didn't believe me before? I'm having to magically alter the bookcase just so they'll all fit in there," he explained, smiling again a bit.

"Wow," she exclaimed, going forward to examine the books. "You have almost everything here, Sevy. I am so impressed."

"Borrow whatever you like," he said generously, his bad mood finally dissipating. "I've read most of them."

"Thanks so much!" she replied, sitting down in one of his hard backed chairs with a copy of Sartre. "Oh, good, you annotate while you read. I hate people that don't mark in books."

He sat down across from her, the Nietzsche in his hand, unopened. He was dying to ask her how he could impress Cassandra, but didn't know how to say it. "Um…Sylvia?"

She looked up. "You called me by my first name?" she asked.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to show any—"

"No, it doesn't bother me," she said, waving it off. "I was just surprised."

"Yes, well…Professor Vablatsky…Cassandra…do you know her?"

She smiled. "Cassandra? Oh, yes indeed. She and I have struck up friendship in the last few weeks. She's not very old either, and my two assistants are younger than I so we relate well together."

"I know this may seem a little strange but—"

She cut him off yet again. "You feel yourself drawn to her and you want me to help you win her attraction."

He was a bit flabbergasted. "How—how did you know that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Honey, when you're a woman, you know these kind of things."

"Please don't call me honey," he said icily.

"Sorry, but it's a cultural thing."

"I don't think that's an excuse."

"Right," she replied, obviously not caring what he thought. "Now, if we're going to win you a woman, Sevy, you're going to have to clean yourself up. As I imagine you can't do this yourself, I am going to expedite the process by helping you. Follow me." She stood up and led the way out of his room into the hallway.

"Where are we going?" he asked, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself into and what Nietzsche would say about such things.

"This time we're going to my room," she declared. "And we are going to give you a makeover."


	4. The Makeover/A Formal Inquiry

Chapter Four 

**Chapter Four**

By the time they reached Dr. Oliver's room, Snape was fully regretted his plea to her for help. He did not want a makeover, after all. Imagine what his friends…if he had any friends other than the Death Eaters, who weren't much of friends anymore…but imagine what they would say if they knew he was allowing himself to be made over.

Sylvia's quarters were very cheery compared to his—well-lit, with many windows open to the night air. She had many portraits on her wall, the foremost of which was over her magnificent mahogany four-poster with its bright yellow canopy. The subject of the portrait could not be any other than Sylvia herself, looking younger. She was staring pensively at a spot in the distance, her hand clasped over her breast as it had been a few moments before. She was dressed in the clothing of an ancient Roman, and standing amidst a countryside where it looked as if a storm might be approaching.

Something about the portrait struck him as odd, and he realized that it wasn't moving, unlike the other pieces of art in the room. It wasn't magical, and, as he examined it closely, he discovered that it seemed to be very old.

"What's this?" he asked, gesturing towards it.

Sylvia, who was gathering up a large array of bottles, brushes, and other unidentifiable objects which he imagined were to be used on him, turned and glanced at the portrait. "A friend of mine made it," she said casually.

"It really is beautiful," he announced, still gazing at it.

"Thank you. Are you ready to be attacked?" she asked, approaching him with her massive amount of tools.

"Now, let's just get this clear," he said firmly. "You're not going to do anything to me that I don't want you to do, are you?"

She shrugged. "You never know. But I promise I won't do anything that Cassandra would find disgusting."

He sighed, giving in. "Very well," he said in a tone of defeat. 

"Good. Now, first things first, you need to take a shower. I have here some wonderful Muggle shampoo for greasy hair and a lovely exfoliating cleanser. These should help," she said, shoving them into his hands. "Now, go!"

He obediently went towards the showers, ruing his mistake. When he returned, it was to the horrifying sound of some contemporary music. Sylvia was singing along to it loudly, but stopped abruptly when she saw him, and turned the music off.

"Please tell me kindly what that music was so I can learn to avoid it whenever possible."

"It's an American band," she explained, "of Muggles, that is. They're called The Eagles. I love their songs. But don't think of me as shallow, Sevy, I also listen to Mozart and Debussy and Dvorak and other old dead men."

He attempted a faint smile. "I only know of them through Muggle Studies."

"You've never heard them?" she asked incredulously. "Well, we will have to do something to change this. But first we will discuss your makeover. I think that these simple Muggle supplies that I have given you have done a marvelous job in improving your appearance." She looked him over appraisingly. "Yes, your hair looks much better. But your skin, I think, is still too white. Do you ever go outside?"

"Not when I can help it," he said. "Why would I want to?"

"Why? Because it's good to be out amongst nature. She holds the deepest and oldest magic that the world will ever know. You can come jogging with me tomorrow morning and find that out. Now, I can't do anything about your nose," she said, indicating that this was a great shame.

"Pray tell me what you think is wrong with my nose," he snapped; he was tired of all the nose insults.

"No-nothing," she stammered as sweetly as possible. "Be—uh—besides, you know what they say about guys with big noses."

"Clearly, I do not," he replied, becoming irritated.

Now she was embarrassed. "Never mind then," she said, turning scarlet.

But this only piqued his curiosity. "What were you going to say?" he demanded.

"Really, Sevy, it's not important. I just made it up on the spot, thinking you would understand my reference. It was a little out of context and probably not appropriate at all. So just forget it."

"Are we done here?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," she said hurriedly, apparently still embarrassed. "But meet me tomorrow morning before breakfast to jog. Say, seven?"

"I absolutely will not," he said, his natural personality taking over. "Dr. Oliver, I don't need you trying to control my life!"

"Fine," she said softly, looking away from him, "but next time you need a friend, Sevy, just say so, instead of making up ridiculous excuses."

That was ludicrous! As if he needed a friend! As if, even if he did need a friend, he would pick this annoyingly superior American woman! This pushed him over the top and he stalked out of her room, shaking with anger. How dare she?

***

After his "makeover" plus the strange new idea of regular showers, Snape was glad to notice that Cassandra did seem to be paying him more attention, and mentally forgave Sylvia Oliver, though he would never say it to her face.

Happy was the day that Snape found out about Sylvia's Halloween party. The word among the faculty was that she was throwing an after-feast bash for all the teachers, and it was supposed to be great fun ("fun if you like to have your teeth pulled out," thought Snape inwardly until he found out more). Dates were encouraged.

It was this last bit that threw him into a frenzy. Should he ask Cassandra to go with him? Would she even say yes? Half excited and half ashamed that he was acting like a hormonal teenager, he approached her one afternoon right before dinner.

"Ah, Severus," she said softly, in a faraway voice, as he approached her.

"Yes…Cassandra…so good to see you."

"It does me well to see you in the flesh, too, Severus," she answered. "You have been haunting my Inner Eye for some time now."

"I have?" he asked, his heartbeat beginning to pick up.

"Of course you have, my friend," she replied, though by this time she was looking beyond him out of a nearby window.

He pressed onward, ignoring this bad sign, and asked bravely, "Would you like to come with me to Dr. Oliver's Halloween party?"

She took a deep breath, and then released it, almost as if she were sighing. Then she responded, "I would be delighted to go with you, Severus."

He almost melted in relief. "Thank you so much, Cassandra!" he near-shouted in his joy.

"You are very welcome, Severus," she said mistily. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must consult my orb."

"Yes, of course," he answered hurriedly. "I'll see you soon!"

He was so excited that he forgot to glare angrily at the portrait of Sir Cadogan, his least favorite of the pictures, on his way past. He heard Cadogan calling, "Stay and fight, you mongrel! I could best you any day!"

He found a certain puerile joy welling up inside of him and threatening to spill out, and, without a second thought, he strode headlong down the stairs out into the warm final rays of the sun, towards the archeological dig, his black robes trailing behind him like a coronation gown.

In the green grass marred by a large brown maw in the earth he saw Dr. Oliver's companions, a girl of perhaps twenty with raven hair and deep brown eyes, and a younger adolescent, sixteen or seventeen, with locks of a shimmering blond hue. They were carefully cleaning what appeared to be a piece of pottery, and looked up with surprise when he came near them.

"Where is Dr. Oliver?" he asked, out of breath. 

"She's digging," replied the girl with obsidian hair. "She really can't have any distractions right now."

"Hey, Sevy, is that you?" came Sylvia's voice from within a large hole. She then stuck her head up to see him, waving cheerfully, covered with dust. "I'll be right out in a minute, so wait there. Just don't contaminate—" He had ignored her advice, and dropped down to the edge of the cavity, "the site," she finished wearily.

"Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly, all of his normal reserve lost, feeling as young as he thought other normal thirty-year-old men might.

"No, no," she said distractedly, coming upon something in the ground, "I'll just rework everything over in that vicinity."

"I didn't mean to cause any more work for you," he said sincerely.

"Sevy, it's all right," she replied, peering intently at what looked like a piece of tattered parchment. 

"What do you have there?" he asked, watching her closely. She was muttering to herself; he assumed she was reading the words scrawled on the paper. Suddenly she looked up with a shock, her hand flying to her heart. "Is something wrong?" he asked, trying to get a closer look at the parchment.

She shifted it to the other hand deliberately just in time to avoid his gaze. "Nothing's wrong," she said falsely. "Did you come down here to tell me something important, or did you just have a fit of immaturity? You are acting very out of character, Sevy."

"I was…just going to tell you," he murmured, still glancing at the parchment. "I asked Cassandra to your party, and she said she would go with me."

"Ah…wonderful," Sylvia said with a note of detachment in her voice. "It would be nice for you, Sevy, to settle down in peace, after all you've been through."

He might have imagined it (as he often did with such things, being extraordinarily paranoid), but he thought he saw her glance at his left arm. "How do you know what I've been through?" he asked, almost panicked.

"I know more than you think I do," she said cryptically, then shook her head as if to free herself of the thought and said, "Well, now that you've won the girl, Sevy, don't you think we could be friends? Or at least try? Please, do come jogging with me."

He debated it for a moment. He could count all of the friends he had ever had on one hand, and none of them had been women. But there was something compelling about Sylvia, something in her eyes, that let him know she was honest, and that she meant no harm. Surely it would not be a crime to go jogging with her? "Very well," he said, after consideration. "I will come with you tomorrow, with one proviso—we discuss On Being and Nothingness."

"It's not a bad proviso," she said, laughing. "Of course, I also demand a discussion of the ancient Greek philosophers, the first of their kind."

"I would be glad to oblige. So I will see you at seven?"

"Yes, of course. Just make sure," she said, with a hint of a smile, and he fancied yet again her eyes on his arm, "that you wear a long-sleeved shirt. It's a bit nippy in the morning this time of year."


	5. Who and What

Chapter Five 

**Chapter Five**

As Halloween approached, Snape grew increasingly nervous. He found himself unusually temperamental, and took fifty points away from Gryffindor when Fred and George Weasley began to sing, "Snape and Cassandra, sitting in a tree…"

Somehow the students had found out about his love interest, and some of them, such as the Weasley boys and their compatriot Lee Jordan, were teasing him endlessly about it. He wondered briefly if Dr. Oliver, who had grown close to these Gryffindor first-years, had told them. Surely she wouldn't do such a thing…would she?

He tried to put the thought out of his mind. _We__'__re friends now, he reminded himself, __and friends don__'__t accuse each other needlessly. Yes, he could now claim that he had a friend, at least in Dr. Oliver, whom he had been meeting for jogging every morning since the day he had asked Cassandra to the party, and he was enjoying every minute of their philosophical discussions. They would range from nihilism to solipsism, from ontology to metaphysics proper, and anything else the two cared to talk about. _

It wasn't all philosophy. Snape found himself sharing things with Sylvia that he had never told another person, and felt much less burdened for getting them off his chest. It was good to have a friend.

He found Sylvia very mysterious and close-lipped on topics such as her past, her family (even old Ulysses and Grayson), and her love life. There seemed to be little she would tell him but he refused to let this cloud their friendship and figured that if she wanted to let him do the talking and her do the listening it didn't bother him that much.

On Halloween morning, Snape awoke with the anticipation of a small child on Christmas Day. He hastily showered, forced a comb through his hair, and forced it into a low ponytail. The mirror said sleepily, "Don't you look nice, dear."

"Thanks," he replied, conjuring up a (long-sleeved) t-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes. He was going jogging with Sylvia before he dressed in his robes.

"Howdy," she said as she met him right outside the large front doors of the castle.

He cringed at the Americanism, but added, "Hello," and they were off, jogging comfortably around the grounds.

As they passed by the Whomping Willow, he felt a trickle of hatred seeping into his veins as he remembered the night that Sirius Black and his cohorts had played their cruel joke on him.

"Do you know why that was planted?" he asked, a little out of breath, as they passed by the tree.

"Yes," she said simply, without further elaboration.

He was a little taken aback, but added, "Do you know why I hate that tree?"

She looked at him piercingly as if she did know, but then answered, "Tell me."

So, with a few pauses every now and then to catch his breath, he told her the story of what Black, Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin had done to him that night. "And I hate all of them," he said vehemently at the end.

"Surely you can't mean it," she answered.

He gaped at her. "Not mean it? Sylvia, do you understand what they did to me? They tried to KILL me, damn it! You can't expect me to love someone for doing that to me."

"They couldn't have all wanted to kill you. I don't think Remus…er…Lupin had anything to do with the plot, and James tipped you off. Pettigrew wasn't even involved. And you can't imagine that Sirius, God bless his soul, knew what he was getting you into."

He shook his head at her. "You don't understand, do you, Sylvia? They all hated me. Everyday, they would look for new opportunities to mock me, to show me up. I will never forgive them!" he spat.

She bit her lip a little nervously. "Tonight's party should be interesting," she said.

He thought she was trying to change the subject, and was glad. "I know," he replied, almost happily. "Can you believe that Cassandra is coming with me?"

"Yes, I can believe it, Sevy," she said cheerfully. "After all, you are a handsome man."

This evoked a chuckle from him. "You don't have to lie to be nice, Sylvia, whether they do so in the South or not!"

"I would never," she mock-protested, and, laughing, sprinted up the stairs into the castle.

***

Snape, dressed to the nines in his nicest black robes, walked down the hall excitedly, heading towards Dr. Oliver's room. He wanted to make sure he passed the good hygiene test before he ventured to find Cassandra. He felt as if nothing could curb his good mood, on which point he was grossly mistaken.

Walking around the corner enthusiastically, he suddenly froze, horrified. Sylvia was standing in the hall, talking closely to none other than Remus Lupin, patched robes and all. In fact, they were doing more than just talking. He distinctly saw Lupin bend his face down to kiss Sylvia. It was at this point that he could literally feel his jaw dropping, and then a great boiling cauldron of hate exploded in him and he surged forward.

"Remus," he said nastily, walking towards the two, who separated guiltily. "Why not tell me that you were in town? We could have had a welcoming party."

"Severus," Sylvia said pleadingly, "a little restraint."

"I could ask the same of him!" Snape snapped. "If you recall, Sylvia, he tried to kill me."

"He did nothing of the sort," she said defensively. "Remus wouldn't even think of it."

"This is why you were singing his praises earlier, isn't it? And I thought it was all your saintliness and sweetness! Why didn't you tell me what was between you two?"

Sylvia opened her mouth angrily as if she was prepared to tell him in no uncertain terms, but Lupin stopped her. "Perhaps I should speak with him, Sylv," he said gently.

"By all means," Snape replied, gesturing for him to continue.

"You see, Sylvia and I have been together since I was very young. I'm surprised you didn't know, Severus. It was back in the day of James and Lily's wedding, before they…well…"

Snape continued to stare at him coldly. He knew that Lupin had no idea what he had been doing during those years, but somehow the thought made him feel guilty. Perhaps he was too paranoid.

"But this woman—she's not even a witch! And she's from America!"

Lupin smiled faintly. "She may not be a witch, Severus, but she's still very powerful, you know, what with the…" He trailed off at the blank look on Snape's face. "You _do know, don_'t you?" He turned to Sylvia. "You didn't tell him?"

"No one at Hogwarts knows but Albus," she replied softly, giving Lupin a look that showed he was going to be in some trouble later.

"Anyway," Lupin continued, trying to save face, "she and I moved to America when I was in my early twenties, back to her family. That's where we've been since."

"This is just too much," Snape proclaimed, walking off quickly.

"No! Sevy!" Sylvia called, running after him.

"Good lord, Sylvia," he said, when they were in another corridor. "Couldn't you have told me this? You know, when you said we were friends? Don't you know what that man _is?_"

"He's nothing worse than what you are!" she said angrily, and he watched, almost in slow motion, as she grabbed his left forearm. But she didn't lift up the sleeve. Had she simply reached for him in anger, and touched him by coincidence?

Then he winced, and gave her a look of wide-eyed terror. The Dark Mark burned when she touched it! What was she? Who was she? In the midst of his terror, he only half-noticed that she too grimaced as if in pain, her hand clutched over her heart. "Get…away…from…me," he said weakly.

"I can explain," she answered, her eyes pleading.

"I can't imagine that you could," he replied, his eyes like ice.

"You're right, I can't really. Not now, anyway. But understand me, Sevy, I don't want to hurt you. Please understand that. Forgive Remus, and forgive me. And come to my party tonight."

"I will come to your party tonight," he responded coolly, "But not because you are forgiven." And with that, he swept off down the hall, lifting up his sleeve to see where the dark mark had burned black.

****

Okay, I promise I'll explain what in the world is going on with Dr. Oliver, but don't get too far on the edge of your seat, because it might be a while before Snape finds out who and what she is. By the way, thanks to Rosmerta, Hermione Williams, the invaluable Severa, Himitsu Natsume, Eowyn Star, Poltergeist, and Raistlin Majere for your reviews. They mean so much to me! And I will definitely get the philosopher's song in here soon!


	6. Hallow Even

Chapter Six

Before I begin this chapter, I want to let you all know that I have changed the rating to PG-13, because when I was writing this, Snape, without a second thought to me or my rating system, starting saying some very mean things (things that only people over thirteen should know about). So, thanks to him, I've got to change it, but don't worry, I don't think he's going to pollute your "virgin ears". It's not that bad.

**Chapter Six**

Rarely had the students of Hogwarts ever seen their teachers so giddy as they were at the Halloween feast that night. Snape, in his best black robes, was sitting close to Cassandra, who was stunning in robes of a bold flame red, although he was occasionally giving Sylvia dark, suspicious, contemptuous looks. 

As for the archeologist (who wore pale orange that gave her an honest, fetching look), she and Remus Lupin (who didn't seem to own anything but patched secondhand robes) were intimate, their heads almost touching, deep in conversation. 

Dumbledore sat chatting pleasantly with McGonagall, his robes enchanted with tiny jack o' lanterns that twinkled and hers black with ugly orange polka dots. Flitwick was trying to charm (ed. Do you get the pun?) Sinistra. It seemed as if the entire staff was contented. Even Hagrid was having a good time, engrossed in a discussion about dangerous and deadly plants with Professor Sprout. Filch, who was given a place of honor that night at the table with the rest of the staff, had been engaged by aging Professor Elysia in what appeared to be a discussion of boggarts. 

But Snape was distinctly uneasy, and distinctly distrustful of Dr. Sylvia Oliver (if this even was her real name), who had been able to do such things to his dark mark. It was as if his past were rushing up around him again in a great whirlwind of voices pleading for mercy, men, women, and children, a high, cold, merciless laugh, and a flash of green light. It took all his concentration to sit patiently and listen to Cassandra explaining what she had seen just the other night while orb gazing.

_This is your once chance with her, you git, he told himself. __And if you ruin it, I will be furious with you! So he willed himself to respond to her predictions with in a tone that feigned great interest._

The end of the feast couldn't come fast enough for the teachers, eager for what promised to be some good clean fun. Lupin and Dr. Oliver slipped out early, doubtless to get ready, and the Heads of the Houses herded their students to their dormitories in record time.

Cassandra accompanied Snape as he led the Slytherins to their lower level commons. She was still discussing the portents she had glimpsed in her orb. "…and then I saw Sylvia Oliver, dressed all in white, and pregnant. I do believe it must be a prophecy of things to come."

"Really?" he said, trying his best to be attentive. "Hopefully it's not Lupin that she's marrying. Tell me, are you and she friendly?"

"Oh, yes," Cassandra said seriously, giving him a look of superiority as if it meant a great deal to be friends with Sylvia Oliver. "She has orb gazed with me many a time, although I must say that oftentimes I cannot get a glimpse of her in the ball. It is very unusual."

"Is that so?" he asked, actually slightly interested in what she might say. "What happens when you try to see her?"

"Events rush by in a mad whirl. It's like I can't seem to hold one down long enough to examine it. Isn't that odd?" she commented, giving him a smile that accented her perfect teeth.

"Extremely," he said, more focused on her mouth than on the words that she said. It had been a long time for him since he had been with a woman. "Here we are," he announced, indicating a large and, to his knowledge, heretofore unused room. The furniture had been cleared out, and most of the staff had already crowded into the tiny space.

"Wonderful," Cassandra said excitedly, dashing over to talk to Dr. Oliver, who, he noticed, seemed a bit annoyed when the Divination professor drew her away from Remus Lupin. 

Snape hung back awkwardly, only to be approached by none other than the person he expressly did not want to speak with, one Remus Lupin. 

"Severus," he said, a tad uncomfortably, "I was hoping we might speak to one another."

"What is there to speak about?" Snape asked coolly, feeling the old familiar anger beginning to burn in his veins. "Besides the fact that your girlfriend did something to me…to me _here," he said, whispering the last part, and gesturing towards his forearm where the Dark Mark lay._

Lupin looked at the spot appraisingly, although it was covered with Snape's robes. "Did she?" he asked, sounding not at all surprised.

"What is she?" Snape hissed. "I suppose she must be something really awful, Remus, to want to hang about with a werewolf."

"I will not rise to your bait," Lupin said slowly, although it was clear that he wanted to attack the other man.

"Come on, Remus," Snape taunted. "After all, who else would want to go to bed with you? I suppose she's used to your howling by now, isn't she? Doesn't care anymore if you get a bit animal-like, because that's the way she likes it."

"I really do wish I could break every bone in your pathetic body," Lupin said with gritted teeth. "But I will have more self restraint than you do. I will not sink to your level, Severus. I would never make a fool out of myself just for jealousy."

Snape laughed coldly. "What do I have to be jealous of?" he sneered. "Do you think I would really want to have anything to do with that Mudblood? Have you gone loony, Lupin?"

Lupin's eyes flashed dangerously. "Andromache has more power than you could ever dream of! And I do think you're jealous, Severus. Do you want to know why? Because she's the one friend you've ever had, and she cares for you, and you don't want to see her caring for anyone else."

"Andromache? So that's her real name, is it?" Snape said in a feline tone. "Thanks for that information, Remus. Now, if you please, I don't want to stand next to you for too long. I wouldn't like to catch your fleas."

Lupin glared at him, but walked off with dignity. He drew Sylvia (or was it Andromache?) away from Cassandra, and began to talk with her in earnest.

At this point, Snape was distracted by Cassandra, who rejoined him. "Sylvia is about to start some music," she explained, "and then we can dance. Won't it be fun?"

"Loads," Snape said dryly. Just then, true to her word, Sylvia cranked up the tunes, and the teachers all looked at one another with a mixture of shyness and anticipation. If he hadn't been one of them, Snape would have declared them positively hilarious, and acting just like reserved teenagers. 

Dumbledore broke the ice by grabbing McGonagall's hand and bowing low to her. "Shall we dance, Minerva?" he asked formally, and the two began to do the fox trot. The others began to join in, until nearly everyone was dancing save Dr. Oliver and Lupin, who were still in conversation.

About thirty minutes later, the music abruptly ended, and everyone wandered over to a table laden with food and drink. Snape grabbed two glasses of nettle wine, and gave one to Cassandra. They sat down to drink it in silence, and were rather enjoying the moment when Sylvia stood up on a small dais and clapped her hands.

"I'm so glad y'all came to my little shindig!" she said as the teachers applauded.

"She's really laying the accent on thick tonight," Snape murmured to Vablatsky. 

"I think it's cute," Cassandra answering, defending the other woman.

"Anyway, Albus and Remus have insisted that I sing a song." At this, loud cheers erupted.

"Does she sing?" Snape asked.

"Beautifully," Cassandra replied, looking towards Sylvia with great expectation.

"And since Fawkes couldn't come tonight, and we decided that phoenix song might be a little much, I'll be singing a Muggle piece."

"She knows phoenix song?" Snape asked, amazed. He had been friends with her now for at least a month, and knew none of these things. He was feeling a little out of the loop.

"Oh, yes. Fawkes took a liking to her and taught her. I daresay it took a while to learn, but it's really amazing."

"So, if Remus would be kind enough to hit the music for me, I will gladly commence." Lupin winked at her and muttered something, holding his wand. Slow, dirge-like music began, and Sylvia began to sing a slow, sad opera song.

"When I am laid, am laid in earth, may my wrongs create no trouble, no trouble in thy breast. Remember me, remember me—remember me, but ah! Forget my fate!" It was sung with so much feeling, so much longing on her face, that they were all mesmerized. She held them in sway for three or four minutes, and then finished. They applauded enthusiastically, and she stepped off the dais, face flushed.

"Sylvia, it was wonderful," Snape said sweetly, flashing Lupin a deadly look when he thought she wasn't looking. Lupin didn't seem too happy that he had moved in on the archeologist, and he was taking full advantage of the situation.

"Thank you, Sevy. It's a piece sung by Dido, the Carthaginian queen, you know, from Vergil, right after she has plunged a knife in her breast."

"Well, that's cheerful," he teased, and then glanced back over at Cassandra, who was giving him a very enticing look. "We'll be off now," he said, gesturing towards the divination professor. "But it was a lovely party."

"Thank you," Sylvia said, but he heard her add clearly, if softly, as he was walking away, "And let poor Dido die." Surprised, he turned to look at her, and he saw her in a pose not unfamiliar—a faraway look in her eyes, her right hand over her breast. It was the same pose she had taken in the painting above her bed.

Not wanting to bother with such things at the moment, he dismissed it as a song lyric, and strode quickly over to Cassandra. 

"Are you ready to go?" she asked, a hint of seduction in her voice.

"If you are," he answered, excited. "Shall I take you back to your room?"

"Yes, please do," she replied. "And stay with me for a while." Trying to control his exultation, he took her arm and led her out, all thoughts of the mysterious Dr. Oliver vanishing from his mind.

***

Okay, y'all, I hope you don't mind about me changing all the chapters up and making it all weird. I'll keep up on writing it, though! Next installment—Sevy and Dr. Oliver try to patch things up after his wild night with Cassandra? And what did Lupin and Sylvia do that night, anyway? We'll find out the answers to all of these questions soon.


	7. Old Scars, New Wounds

In case anyone was wondering or cares, the song that Dr. Oliver sang in the last chapter was "When I am laid in earth" by Henry Purcell, from his opera "Dido and Aeneas". Yet again, in this chapter Snape decided he wanted to say some nasty things, and I let him, because I think it's realistically the way he would react to Lupin. But you might want to cover your ears. Oh yes, and I had writer's block about halfway through this chapter, but I tried to push past the hunger (I am fasting from Good Friday to Easter Sunday), so if it seems a little delusional at times, make allowances. With that said, enjoy!  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
When Snape met Sylvia the next morning to go jogging, he was a little late, and when he finally caught up with her, she noted with no small smile on her face that his usually pale face was flushed and he looked unusually happy.  
  
"What took you so long?" she asked, half-knowing the answer and half-hoping he wouldn't really tell her.  
  
"I overslept," he said, wondering if she knew this was something of a lie.  
  
"In Cassandra's room," she replied, having guessed as much.  
  
He gave her a look. "What is it exactly that you accuse me of, madam?"  
  
She laughed. "Sevy, you're in a much better mood than I've ever seen you. Something has to be going on, and I saw the way you two were looking at each other last night when you left. Come off it."  
  
"Very well," he said slyly, "But I still admit to nothing."  
  
"Good, because I think if you told me anything more, it would be too much information."  
  
They jogged on in silence for a while, skirting around the lake, and then Snape said unexpectedly, "What about you and Lupin?"  
  
"We had a long night too," she replied, but didn't sound very excited about it.  
  
"Really?" Snape said wonderingly. "Lupin, you old dog…werewolf. I suppose it's the same thing."  
  
"No, that's not it at all, Sevy! How your mind leaps to conclusions!" she mock-scolded.  
  
"Then what were you doing last night?" he asked innocently.  
  
"Oh, he was practically inconsolable. He felt awful because of what you said to him about me, and he seemed to think I should take it as some kind of personal insult. Seeing as how I really didn't, this only made him more angry, and then we had a long discussion about how things stood between us. It was good that we got things out in the open, but I told him things he didn't want to hear."  
  
"Good lord, Sylvia, I'm sorry," he said, now embarrassed. He shouldn't have let his old nature get away with him, even though it was hard to control himself around Lupin. He hadn't meant for Sylvia to find out about it, though. "I never meant to-"  
  
"Sevy, please," she replied. "We should say everything that we say as if we weren't ashamed to say it to a person's face. I know that what you said last night, you would not have said to me. Or would you?"  
  
"I probably wouldn't have," he muttered, feeling very chastised.  
  
"There you have it," she said, a bit triumphantly. "But I want you to know that it doesn't upset me. It was Remus that you upset. Don't feel bad on my account."  
  
"Then I don't feel bad at all," he said, smiling.  
  
"You don't even feel a bit of remorse for what you said to Remus?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Sylvia, please. We spent our teenage years making fools out of each other, and it's going to take more than a concerned archeologist to make us stop now."  
  
She sighed. "Remus is a good person, Sevy. I think you need to give him some credit. He's not the same person that he was in school, and neither are you."  
  
"I don't need to hear this," he said, wishing that they could have avoided this conversation. He had been so happy when he had come down from Cassandra's room and now he was feeling...guilty. He usually didn't feel guilty. After this, they finished their jog in silence.  
  
As they were walking up to the majestic front door, he said hoping to patch things up, "Why don't you come up later to my room? We can talk about Sartre, whose book I dearly hope you have finished by now."  
  
Her eyes smiled at him. "Sure, Sevy. I'd love to do that. After dinner, you think?"  
  
"Sounds wonderful," he replied, glad to have put the awkwardness behind them. He hadn't had his friend for long, and he didn't want to lose her already.  
  
***  
  
But he felt it was testing his patience when he saw Lupin, who was carrying a small traveling bag, and who was obviously on his way home that afternoon. He happened to be walking down the corridor towards the Great Hall, and couldn't avoid the other man. It seemed a confrontation was inevitable.  
  
"Snape," Lupin said as the two met in the middle of the corridor, "I'm supposed to tell you that there are no hard feelings between us." He looked as if it pained him greatly to say this.  
  
Snape laughed mirthlessly. "Sylvia?" he guessed.  
  
"Yes. She's told me that I need to put this behind me and learn to treat you with respect, and so I will try."  
  
"You can try," Snape said coldly, "But I will hardly reciprocate the effort."  
  
"And why not?" Lupin exploded, and his bag fell down onto the floor with a soft plop. "Why can't you forget our childish grudge, and let bygones be bygones? It's because you never matured, isn't it? You're still a boy! I will be more of a man than you are, and try to look past it."  
  
"You, a man?" Snape said silkily and with great pleasure. "I think not, Lupin. In fact, it seems you were lucky that Halloween didn't fall on the full moon this year. Let's hope that none of the other holidays do, seeing as how they are the few times you get to have with your precious Sylvia. Unless, that is, she's into bestiality-"  
  
"Bastard!" Lupin cried, losing all his self-control, and swinging a punch at Snape that narrowly missed his left eye.  
  
"Tsk, tsk," Snape reprimanded, his eyes flashing with hatred and a certain excitement at having provoked Lupin. "You've already forgotten what you said, Remus? About letting bygones be bygones, forgetting the past? It seems you're the one being childish now. And it's all because of your precious little Sylvia." He knew now that this was the only way to make Lupin angry, and, bad as he felt for using the archeologist to bait the other man, he couldn't resist the urge to do so. "It's so touching, the way you stand up for her. Are you sure she hasn't found somebody else, somebody who could satisfy her-a...real... man?"  
  
At this, Lupin lost his last vestige of restaint and flung himself upon Snape, punching his face, and Snape, not one to sit passively and allow himself to be beaten, retaliated with great delight. Lupin was strong (with muscles, Snape was sure, that came from transforming into a werewolf once a month), but Snape could hold his own.  
  
They were still scuffling when Dumbledore descended the stairs towards the Great Hall, and said in a loud voice, "Gentlemen, I believe you forget yourselves."  
  
Lupin, looking incredibly ashamed, stood up immediately, brushing dirt off of his already dirty robes. His nose was bleeding and it looked as if Snape had hit him in his right eye, which was swelling and looked altogether disagreeable. "I'm sorry, Albus. I didn't mean to lose control," he mumbled, looking down at the floor.   
  
Snape also stood up, but still looked defiant. His black eyes were shining with malice, although his left one was blackened and a small trickle of blood was seeping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away impatiently. "Headmaster, forgive me," he said, also a bit abashed.  
  
"I am reminded of two students I once had," Dumbledore said, looking both of them over. "I had hoped, however, that these two young men had grown up. It doesn't seem that they did."  
  
"He said...things, horrible things about Sylvia," Lupin said, looking at Snape as if he wished their fight hadn't been cut off.  
  
"It seems that that is hardly a reason to resort to physical violence," Dumbledore replied. "He used words, Remus, mere words. You shouldn't have let these words affect you. I want you both to apologize to one another, and then, Severus, I would like to speak with you."  
  
Snape felt a sudden sinking feeling, and realized that he wanted nothing less than to be rebuked by Albus Dumbledore for his behavior, which, he now saw, had been incredibly puerile. He and Lupin mumbled their apologies and shook hands hastily.  
  
"The two of you should perhaps visit Madam Pomfrey, who, I'm sure, will help you with your wounds." Dumbledore added. Lupin nodded at his words, and set off up the stairs towards the infirmary. "Severus," Dumbledore said, and Snape, who had been about to follow the other man, turned to look at him. "We still need to talk. Perhaps now is not the best time to tell you this, but there are many things you don't know about Dr. Oliver, and I have realized that it is time to explain them to you. So after you have seen Poppy, please come to my office."  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," Snape replied, trudging up the stairs. He wasn't looking forward to his talk with Dumbledore, not in the least.  
  
****  
  
That's the end of this one, guys. In the next chapter, you will learn a bit more about Dr. Oliver from Dumbledore, but certainly not everything. I haven't yet decided if we will find out why she is called Andromache by some. At this point, I would like to thank all my wonderful reviewers, and extend a special thanks to Severa, my favorite companion in Snapishness, for reading my story endlessly! May Alan Rickman live on in your heart forever! 


	8. Of An Initiation Rite

Okay, guys and gals, this chapter's a little disturbing

Okay, guys and gals, this chapter's a little disturbing. But read it through to the end and I'll give you a gold star! By the way, this is dedicated to Jessica, (aka P-Phunk), my first and most loyal fan, who put up with me reading her Christy II in the 5th grade. By the way, David _did_ kiss the doctor, and there was also a blackout. Anyway, read on, if you dare.

**Chapter Eight**

Once Snape, his wounds now healed by Madam Pomfrey, was seated as comfortably as possible in Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster began.

"First of all," he said, "I want you to know that I have discussed this with Dr. Oliver and she agrees you have a right to know a bit more about her than she has divulged to the rest of the staff."

Snape suddenly realized something important that he had neglected to tell Dumbledore. "Headmaster," he said a bit frantically. "Yesterday, when she touched me on my Dark Mark, it burned. Like it would have if…if Voldemort had touched me." Alone of all the teachers, he was willing to say the Dark Lord's name, perhaps because he alone had served him for so long.

"Yes," Dumbledore said calmly, "as I see it, that _would_ happen."

"You and Lupin have both acted very natural about it," Snape said accusingly. "But I can't wholly trust someone who has the power to do that."

"You do not know her as Remus and I know her," Dumbledore continued. "Severus, Sylvia Oliver is a very powerful Magical being. Suffice it to say, at this point she does not want me to tell you what sort of being she is, but you need to know this much—she ages differently than we do."

Snape's mind was racing as he thought of all beings and their methods of aging. Banshees and veelas had much longer lives than wizards, whereas mermaids and centaurs lived much shorter. She was hardly a mermaid or a centaur, though. And perhaps she was none of these, but some obscure creature that he had learned of once in a Care of Magical Creatures class and forgotten.

"The reason that your Dark Mark burned," Dumbledore said, fixing Snape with a very shrewd look, "is because Voldemort once had her in his sway. Take your mind back to the days of his power. Do you remember her?"

Snape didn't like to think back to those days of mindless killing and brutal torture, but he forced himself to mull on it. And suddenly, he saw her in his mind's eye and couldn't believe that he had not made the connection before. "My initiation ceremony," he said hoarsely, "when they—they burned it into my skin. She was there, I can see her…"

He was walking toward the Dark Lord, then prostrate before him, quavering with fear. He looked up nervously at the man that stood tall and thin and majestic in his black robes, his face not blocked with a mask like his followers, but gazing forth with all its horrible malice. And next to him, at his right hand, although a step behind him, was another figure not masked, a woman. 

Warm, honey-colored hair, smooth skin with an olive tint, gray-green eyes, and an elegantly shaped hand that presented the brand of the Death Eaters to Voldemort. It was Sylvia. As the Dark Lord accepted it from her, he gave her a look in which lust and longing and desire were all commingled, and he gazed for a moment at her belly, which Snape suddenly and horribly realized was swollen with child.

"She—she…" he was too overcome with emotion to finish the sentence.

Dumbledore saw by the look in his eyes what he was trying to say, and replied, "Yes, she carried Voldemort's child, who was later stillborn. Understand this, Severus—the powers that drew Sylvia Oliver to Lord Voldemort were a deeper, more powerful magic than we use today…and a very dark magic. As soon as she lost the child, she ran from him and came to me."

"I just cannot understand it, Headmaster," Snape sputtered. "She is so kind and gentle and…and there is no Dark Mark on her arm!" He had seen her wearing short-sleeved t-shirts often enough while jogging to know this much of her.

"No, there is not," Dumbledore said sadly. "Sylvia's dark mark is in a deeper place than her arm. To be the lover of Voldemort, Severus…we just cannot imagine it. You served him, yes, but to you he was a master. To her…to her he was a lover, close to her soul. She had loved him before he changed, and she tried to love him after. She was misinformed."

"How could she have survived him?" Snape asked. He now felt a deeper kinship with the woman than he had thought possible—they shared a secret, horrible and gruesome, and it would bind them inextricably forever in their guilt.

"She is made of strong stuff, and does not lack sinew," Dumbledore said. "You can understand why she wanted you to know this about her. She was uncomfortable to tell you herself, and asked me to do it for her. Do you have a better idea now of her reasons?"

"I must go and speak with her right away," Snape replied, determined, and Dumbledore watched, smiling a bit, as the younger man walked down the stairs resolutely. 

"Fawkes, what would he say if he realized that that wasn't the half of it?" the headmaster asked the phoenix, who looked at him wisely but did not speak a word.

*******

Snape, still slightly dazed, made his way down to Sylvia's quarters, trying to remember all he had known of that woman he remembered from his initiation ceremony. None of the Death Eaters had known much about her; they had accused her of being aloof, in fact, of thinking that she was better than they were. Of course, it hadn't been long at all before the child was born, and she had disappeared. 

Snape remembered when the child had been born. It was, he thought he recalled, a boy, but it had never drawn a breath before it was dead. Voldemort had been furious, burning with anger, and he had done things in those next few months that were so odious they still made Snape shudder. It had just made things worse when Sylvia had vanished without a trace.

He knocked on her door, and heard her cry out, "Come in, it's open!" As he entered the room, he noticed her hastily stowing something away in a cabinet, something that looked like a Pensieve. He wondered what kind of memories she was keeping in it.

"Sevy, I thought that might be you. Remember, we said we were going to meet tonight after dinner? You never turned up!" she said, smiling a bit until she saw his face, grim and ashen. "What on earth is wrong, Sevy?"

"The last few hours have been a little...traumatic," he began.

"Yes, Remus told me about your fight."

"Is he still here?" Snape asked, looking about anxiously. He didn't want Lupin suddenly intruding on them. 

"No, he's gone now. How could you, Sevy, really?"

"It's not important anymore. Sylvia, I spoke with Dumbledore. He told me about you...about your secret."

"My secret?" she asked, a little panicked. "Surely he did not tell you everything?"

"He told me about you and Voldemort," Snape said, watching the expression on her face carefully. To his surprise, she barely even flinched. It seemed that this was good news to her.

"Oh, he told you about Tom and I," she replied easily, as if this was nothing.

"Sylvia, how can you be so calm about it? Lord Voldemort was the darkest wizard of our age." He saw her wrinkle her brow at that name, as if she did not like to use it. But who was she kidding? Tom Riddle, whose name she used so freely, was long dead.

Her eyes darkened. "Of our age, yes," she murmured. "No, I really found Tom a bit endearing at first. Then when he grew darker, I knew that I had to do something about it. Eventually I got away from him. I'm surprised you don't remember me, Sevy."

"I did, when Dumbledore reminded me," he said falteringly. "I remembered my initiation ceremony, where everyone was masked—save you and him—"

"He always told me that a mask would hide my beauty," she said softly, "and he wanted everyone to know that my beauty belonged to him."

"—You handed him the brand—" Snape continued, as if he hadn't heard her, "and you were with child—"

"I remember you like it was yesterday," she said, walking slowly towards him. "You were a pale, scared, nervous kid, weren't you, Severus?" She moved to push up the sleeve of his left arm, and, a bit mesmerized, he let her. Her fingers traced his Dark Mark almost caressingly, and there was a look in her eyes that he did not know how to define, but he did not like it. In fact, it frightened him. "Why did you join him?" she whispered.

"No," he murmured, shaking his head and pulling away from her. "I can't tell you…it's too much…please, Sylvia." She was still staring at him almost hungrily, and he was afraid of her.

"Please tell me, Severus," she pleaded. "I have to know…I have to know evil. It's driving me mad!"

Horrified, he stepped further away from her. "What—what are you? No more secrets, Andromache."

When she heard the name, her head snapped up and she looked at him strangely. "Who told you? Who told you my name?"

He laughed awkwardly, "Tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine."

She was clearly uncomfortable. "Sevy, listen to me. Too much has happened today. Forgive me for what I said a moment ago. I lost control. Can we forget about this for now? Someday I promise I will tell you about myself, but not now."

He weighed his decisions. He valued her friendship, and didn't want to alienate her, but something about her was not right. However, she could not be so evil if Dumbledore trusted her. He would have to trust her as well, and wait until she saw fit to divulge her secrets. "Very well," he said, sighing, "We will forget about it."

"Thank you," she said, very relieved. "Now," she continued, "I do believe we were slated for a discussion on Sartre."

"How correct you are!" he said in a tone of false cheeriness, hiding the confusion in his eyes. "Let's see what Jean-Paul has to say."

***

Okay, so Sylvia's a little darker of a character than you thought she'd be, isn't she? I've always got a bag of tricks up my sleeve (I think that was a mixed metaphor). Again, I'd like to give the hugest of thanks to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers—Velvet, Jessica of course, Rushumble, lunakitten, Severa my _mentula-amat _friend, Raistlin Majere, Rosmerta (my very first reviewer!), kateydidnt, eowynstar (a loyal fandom friend), poltergeist, Himitsu Natsume, and All's Well that End's Well. Keep reviewing, please, y'all!


	9. Epiluo Humas

A/N: Chapter Nine's not really thrilling, and it took me a LONG time to write, as I have been busy with the last days of schoo

A/N: Chapter Nine's not really thrilling, and it took me a LONG time to write, as I have been busy with the last days of school, graduation invitations, studying for AP exams, et al. Sorry to say that this isn't first on my list. But here it is, complete with Monty Python's very own philosophy song, for your listening/viewing pleasure! Chapter Nine 

Slowly the days whorled past in a haze of snow and steely gray skies from November to December, and it was close to Christmastime. Snape, who had been sinister and brooding ever since All Saints' Day, had not improved his mood. He had taken away a round one hundred and ten points away from Gryffindor one day, which some believed to be a school record, when Fred and George Weasley had done something unforgivable. 

To anyone else, it might not have seemed unforgivable. After all, it was innocent enough (at least as innocent as things could be when dealing with the incorrigible Weasley twins); they had schemed and worked and plotted and planned so that they could conjure up the tank top and shorts that Dr. Oliver had been wearing on the day when she had shocked his first year Potions class. Then they would stick them on Snape. What the two didn't realize was that this would make his dark mark visible to anyone who cared to take a look at it.

It must have taken quite a bit of extra studying in transfiguration to master this feat, but Fred and George would do anything, go to any length, for a laugh. In the second week of December, they struck right after the bell rang and the Ravenclaws were all hurrying out of the classroom, although the Gryffindors had not moved. They knew what was about to happen.

Together, the Weasley boys pointed their wands at Snape and said, "_Vestinovi!"_ Snape looked down in horror as his robes transformed into a tank top of cyan blue and a pair of khaki shorts.

"_Finite incantatem_!" he muttered hastily with his wand pointed at himself, trying not to let anyone get a look at the tattoo upon his arm, and his robes were back almost immediately. In the same moment, he cast a spell that bound ropes around Fred and George, and they fell to the floor, unbalanced. 

"Straight to Dumbledore," he said icily, his voice only betraying a hint of his anger. "And I hope you two are expelled."

"But Professor Snape, it was only a joke—" George sputtered faintly, going pale at the look on Snape's face. The other Gryffindors hastily cleared out of the room.

"You will NOT treat your teachers with such disrespect!" he bellowed, and they stared up at him, shocked, never having heard him lose his temper like this. "At least one hundred points from Gryffindor, if not more, and that's added to the ten you lost earlier for speaking out of turn." He then performed a spell to levitate the two boys, and they floated down the hall, still bound in the ropes, on the way to Dumbledore's office.

He was trying to take the most discreet route possible, for no matter how angry he was, he knew it had been wrong to lose control like this.He shouldn't have tied them up, and he realized it. But he couldn't release them now, as it would show his weakness in front of the two and they would lose any vestige of respect they had for him.

Wasn't it just his luck, then, that Dr. Sylvia Oliver was hurrying hastily down the corridor, book in hand as usual, and dressed festively in red and green robes. It seemed she was going to walk past them without the slightest glance, until…

"Sylv! Sylv, help us!" Fred said miserably, struggling with his ropes. She looked up and was properly horrified.

"Severus!" she screeched, "What have you done? Release them at once!"

"You are not aware what they have done, Dr. Oliver. A severe crime deserves a severe punishment," he said coldly.

"Certainly binding them like criminals is not the proper punishment!" she proclaimed.

He smiled nastily, and wondered what sort of power she had. After all, wasn't everyone saying she was much more powerful than wizards? "You can't do anything about it," he said, taunting her.

Her face hardened. "I can and I will," she replied firmly, and holding up her right hand, she cried out, "_Epiluo humas!"_ Immediately, their bonds flew off, and she gave him a look of triumphant superiority.

He was clearly flummoxed at this sudden show of strength. He was not even sure what language she had been speaking, and she hadn't even used a wand. 

Fred and George, for some reason, did not look surprised, but hastily scrambled to their feet, and Sylvia pushed them behind her, protecting them as if she were a mother hen.

"Sylvia," Snape pleaded, "they are being treated justly. I am taking them to Dumbledore's office. Please let me continue."

"Very well," she said, her words clipped. "But I am coming with you. I know these two well enough to not believe them innocent of all wrong doing, but that doesn't mean that I trust you with them."

They walked silently to Dumbledore's office, Fred and George still behind Sylvia's voluminous robes. She left them at the gargoyle, and Snape, still perplexed at what she might have done to release them from their bonds, was silent all the way up the winding staircase as well.

***

"How did you do that?" Snape demanded later, standing at the door to Sylvia's room, watching as she hastily stowed her Pensieve.

"What's that?" she asked, coming out from the cupboard where she had placed the stone bowl.

"You know what I said, and you know why I'm asking it. How, by Merlin, did you break my spell?" he asked accusatorily.

She shrugged. "I don't like to use my powers. I rarely do. But the sight of those poor boys, and the look on your face—I just had to. I regret it now."

"But _how_? I need to know. What language were you speaking in?"

She grinned. "If you don't know that, Severus Snape, I'm not going to tell you. You'll have to figure it out for yourself."

"Fine. Then I will," he replied petulantly. Almost immediately he was ashamed he had said it. He sounded like a child!

"Anyway, I have a song to teach you, Sevy. A philosophy song."

"Philosophy?" he asked, brightening. No matter how she blatantly changed the subject, if she mentioned philosophy, it would make his day.

"Certainly. It's a song by your own Brits. Muggles, though, I'm afraid. They're called Monty Python."

He furrowed his brow. "I think I may have heard of them in my days at Hogwarts. Some of the Muggle-borns going on and on about them, laughing hysterically." He grimaced at the memory.

"Well, I promise you'll enjoy this. For your entertainment pleasure, Sevy, I present—the Philosopher's Song." With those words, she flicked her wrist (in a manner looking suspiciously magical to him), and loud, obnoxious singing burst forth from, it seemed, the very walls in a raucous drunken cavort. He listened intently to the words.

"Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.  
  


Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table.  
  


David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel.  
  


And Wittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.  
  


There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach 'ya 'bout the raising of the wrist.  
  


Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.  
  


John Stewart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shanty was particularly ill.  
  


Plato, they say, could stick it away, half a crate of whiskey every day!  
  


Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,  
  


And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.  
  


[][1]And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart: 'I drink, therefore I am.'  
  


Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;  
  


A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed."

The music subsequently ended and he looked in Sylvia's direction to see her doubled over in paroxysms of laughter. He had had to suppress a chuckle or two himself. Eventually she came up for air and glanced over at his staid figure.

"What? You didn't think it was funny?" she asked, wiping tears away from her eyes. In fact, he had found it more than funny, but he wasn't sure he wanted to show any emotion when he was around this strange creature.

"It was all right," he said stiffly.

"Oh, you just can't enjoy yourself, Sevy," she bantered.

"I think I have good reason to be on my guard with you," he countered, "when I have little idea who or what you are."

Her smile faded. "Please don't let the…the things that have happened lately…to come between us. Listen, I'm having another party over Christmas break. Make sure you come and bring Cassandra. How are things between you?"

"Fine," he said shortly, "Things are fine." Actually, things were more than fine between the couple, and he had recently admitted to himself that he was in love with the Divination professor. He was trying to work up the courage to ask her to marry him. It would be nice to have Sylvia's advice on the matter, but he wasn't sure he trusted her anymore. 

His musings left an awkward silence and Sylvia cleared her throat. "Look, Sevy, I know things seem a little weird right now but I promise that…they'll get better."

"I'm sure," he said coldly, walking out of her room and towards the library. She had told him to figure it out for himself and figure it out he would. He was going to find out what she was, and, he vowed, he was going to do it tonight.

***

Okay, thanks again to all my WONDERFUL reviewers. In the next chapter, Snape is going to find some interesting books in the library, and learn a little bit more about the mysterious Doctor. Lupin will appear again soon (in fact, I've written a little short story about Sylvia and him), and more fighting will quite possibly ensue. I'm afraid the next few parts will get so long that I might have to reconfigure the chapters yet again, but who knows? Oh, and if you want to listen to the whole Monty Python song, follow this link: http://lightning.prohosting.com/~montypy/sounds/philosop.wav

   [1]: http://www.montypython.net/cgi-bin/dl/sketches.cgi?drunkenfart.wav



	10. The Three

A/N: I seem to have gotten a lot of questions since I posted my last chapter, so I'll try to answer them here

A/N: I seem to have gotten a lot of questions since I posted my last chapter, so I'll try to answer them here. To Blackletter, yes of course, I'm looking forward to a fast-paced career in classics. Rosmerta, next year I'm going to Rhodes College in Memphis, where I plan to major in GRS (Greek and Roman Studies—classics, of course). Oh, and my fast is something that I do, not a religiously sanctioned thing. I'm an Episcopalian. Rushumble, thanks for the suggestion. Cassie does feature more prominently in this chapter, and she's got a mystery surrounding her as well, believe it or not. And I think that's it. This chapter is VERY important, so read carefully. Hope you enjoy it. Chapter Ten 

The library was devoid of all but a single soul by the time he came in. Even Madam Pince was gone. The room was occupied solely by Dr. Oliver's raven-haired associate, who was deeply absorbed in a book, and took no notice of him.

He wandered from shelf to shelf, gathering any and all books that he saw on non-wizard magical creatures, and soon he had a veritable pile that he unloaded on a table not far from the quiet girl. She glanced up at him, undoubtedly noticing the titles of his books, and decided to stand up and introduce herself.

"I don't believe we've met," she said, smiling slightly. "I'm Rosamund Smith."

"Severus Snape," he replied. "You must be one of Dr. Oliver's assistants. I know I've seen you down at the site."

Her mouth curved in the semblance of a smile, but there was something very spooky about it. "I suppose she doesn't find me important enough to talk about."

"Well, I…" he said, flabbergasted.

"You've said more than enough."

"What are you reading?" he asked suddenly, trying desperately to change the subject.

She held up the thick book so that he could read the words on the spine. "The Resolutions of the Council of Witches and Wizards in the High Middle Ages," she said.

"I must have missed that one," he bantered.

"And what are you reading, Professor Snape? Books on non-wizard magical creatures? Are you doing your research on us?"

"Us?" he asked, confused.

"I see she hasn't told you then. I must have been misunderstood, but I thought I heard her saying that the two of you were friends."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean," he replied.

She had a mysterious smile on her face. "I'll leave you to find out on your own, then. I'd try this one first," she added, tapping on the largest book. Then, as he watched, she left the library, her book still under her arm.

He flipped over the book she had indicated to see what it was called. _A History of Non-Wizard Magical Beings_, he read, _by Cassandra Vablatsky. _

"Cassandra?" he said out loud in surprise, as if she might answer him. But why had she written the book? And when? She had never told him about it. He had thought her sole concern was divination.

Now fully interested, he began to leaf through the book, past banshees, centaurs, mermaids—suddenly a striking portrait caught his eye. It was of three women standing in a half-circle. At first he didn't know what had attracted him to it, but he realized with a start that the woman in the center had her hand clasped over her heart in a familiar gesture.

Gazing more intently at the portrait, he recognized the woman as a slightly younger Dr. Oliver, dressed, as she was in the portrait in her room, in Roman clothes. The two women on either side of her he recognized as well—they were Rosamund Smith, the girl he had just met, and the younger blonde-haired girl that was also Sylvia's assistant.

He now glanced at the article that was opposite the picture. It was entitled "The Three". He read:

"From ancient times until the present, these non-wizard magical beings have been known simply as The Three. They are a group of three females, in appearance and manner similar to humans, and are known for their deep communion with nature.

It is said that in the beginning of time, Mother Nature created three women whom she named her guardians and protectorates. The women were given the gift of immortality.

But the legend goes that soon the women were lonely and bored with their immortality and they asked Mother Nature for companionship. So she granted this proviso to them—that they would age one year for every century of human time that passed, and that they would each be provided, at some time, with one male who was their match. With him they would mate, and, once pregnant, would lose their immortality. The birth of a daughter would signal the next member of The Three. 

This pattern has continued for thousands of years, but with it came a new power for the member of The Three who was the eldest (before this, the women had all been of comparable age). Now the eldest of The Three had a special duty towards Nature to protect her from harm, and the duty to teach her companions to do so as well.

It has been known for centuries, though it has never been scientifically proven, that The Three have their own brand of magic that they can use if the need arises. What is clear to wizards and witches is that The Three can control nature and can reverse magical spells, although it is unknown how they do so.

The Three currently are Andromache, Axiothea, and Artemis (note: their names have often changed, and they themselves seem little concerned with such things). Andromache, the eldest, is the daughter of Rhodesia and the philosopher Socrates. Axiothea is the daughter of Rahab and a Roman emperor, Claudius. The youngest, Artemis, was born of Ruth and Baudoin, a cabinetmaker. 

Each one of The Three has a colorful story to tell, but that of Andromache is perhaps the most dramatic and, this author would say, demands its own book. The Three currently reside in both America and England."

Snape was astounded. He kept reading and rereading the entry in the book, trying to understand it. He vaguely remembered stories of The Three from his younger days, but had thought they were merely legend. Suddenly, things seemed much clearer about Sylvia and her compatriots.

But things were only murkier about Cassandra. If she had known all this, why hadn't she told him? She'd certainly had every opportunity to give him this information, and he'd certainly been puzzling over it.

Then he began to wonder about Sylvia herself. Was Lupin the one that the book spoke of, and, if so, where was their child? It didn't seem as if they were married, and certainly not parents. With a shock, he looked over the words on the page again and the realization of her parentage began to sink in…the daughter of Rhodesia and the philosopher Socrates…Socrates! The original philosophical master! This was simply…simply mind-boggling! He had to find Sylvia right away and ask her about the man. No wonder she was so interested in philosophy!

He sprinted almost blindly towards her room, but was stopped by, of all people, Cassandra, who had obviously been looking for him.

"Severus," she said pleasantly, "Where have you been? I've been looking for you all over? Are you feeling all right? You look pale."

"Cassandra," he said slowly, pausing now and again to catch his breath, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, dear?" she asked, looking at him curiously. "I think you're ill. Perhaps we should go to the infirmary and see Madam Pomfrey?"

"You didn't tell me about the book that you'd written…about non-wizard magical creatures," he said petulantly, annoyed by her attempt to mother him.

Was it his imagination, or did she now look distinctly uncomfortable? "Yes," she said uncertainly, "that. Well, Severus, don't tell me that you expected to know my whole life story in the few months we've been together."

"This has to be a pretty significant part of your life story," he replied, finding himself to be angry with her. He had this feeling that she had lied to him, and her discomfort was only adding fuel to his suspicion. "I mean, it's a long book and you're not very old. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought your main interest was divination."

"It is, it is," she said hastily, as if trying to soothe his fears. "I have the natural gifts for Divination. I've always known that. But I'm also very interested in non-wizard magical creatures. It's a hobby of mine, I guess you could say."

"Are you interested in The Three?" he asked, and watched as her face grew pale.

"Well…well of course, who isn't?" she stammered. "I mean, really it's a very intriguing story, and they're very interesting beings. I-I…I'm only as interested in them as anyone else."

"Then why is it that you never told me about them?" he asked quietly, silkily. "Seeing as how you find them so intriguing, didn't you want to share the news with me that they were living right here in this castle?"

She now looked frightened. "Severus, what is it that you are accusing me of? I really think you must not feel well. Sylvia wanted me not to tell anyone—she and Rosamund and Sophie don't like all the extra attention they get from it. Please come with me to see Madam Pomfrey, Severus…I'm sure she can help…" She laid her fingers lightly on his arm.

He pulled away from her immediately. "No, Cassandra, I'm not going with you," he said coldly. "I feel perfectly fine. It seems that you're the one who isn't feeling well. Perhaps your conscience is bothering you? I'm going to see Sylvia."

Ignoring her protests, he walked away, his mind still reeling with everything that had happened in the last few hours. All he knew was that he had to talk to Sylvia; he had to ask her about her father, and about Cassandra, and about so many other things. He was suddenly floored with the thought that she was centuries old. How much history she must have seen! What a valuable resource she could be.

Then he felt a sudden pang of remorse. Why was he thinking this way? It was probably the exact reason that Sylvia had not wanted people to know about her and her two assistants; she was probably tired of the questions and the endless looks of awe that she got when she told anyone about herself. Maybe he shouldn't ask her about her father—maybe he would wait until the right time to say anything about it.

With all this thinking, he hadn't even realized that he was standing in front of her room. Plucking up his courage, he knocked on her door. There was no answer. 

"Sylvia?" he called. "Dr. Oliver? Are you here?" He heard only silence within. He then opened the door cautiously, seeing her room dim with the light of a single candle. She obviously had gone somewhere. 

He was about to leave when he noticed a stone basin sitting on top of the trunk at the foot of her bed. With a start, he realized it was her Pensieve. He wondered how many years of history were contained inside of that bowl. It wasn't wrong to want to know, was it? He peered down into the depths of the basin, wondering what secrets of Sylvia it held. He desperately wanted to find out.

So, looking around carefully to make sure he was truly alone, he reached out his finger and touched it to the strange substance within the bowl. Suddenly he felt a strange sensation in his stomach, and before he knew it, he was no longer in Sylvia Oliver's bedroom.

***

Okay, so now Severus is on a trip through Sylvia Oliver's memories. It should be a wild, wild ride for him next chapter, eh? Thanks to my many reviewers—your words of wisdom mean everything to me. Please don't stop! A special thanks to new reviewers Blackletter and Sphinx—I'm so glad you've found and enjoyed my story. And, of course, don't think I've forgotten you, my old faithful friends. Please keep reviewing! J


	11. The Pensieve

Chapter Eleven

**A/N:** This chapter is much longer than the others, because I had to fit a lot of Sylvia's memories into it. So just plow on through, tough it out, and I hope that you will enjoy it. By the way, "Love Me or Leave Me" belongs to Walter Donaldson and Gus Kahn, "Bewitched" belongs to Lorenz and Hart (personal note: I have actually sung both of these songs), and, of course, Snape and Dumbledore and many others belong to J.K. Rowling's imagination. Only Sylvia is mine.

** **

**Chapter Eleven**

Just as soon as he had felt himself being taken from Sylvia's room, he was placed down unceremoniously in a dimly lit and crowded room. He stood up, rubbing his head from the fall, then took a moment to look around.

It was clearly a gathering of Muggles, but their clothes were not those of modern Muggles. He would guess it was the early twentieth century from the way they were dressed, but he really didn't know that much about Muggle fashion. The room was smoky and noisy as voices and cigarettes and the soft piano playing melded together into a seamless mesh of sense-overload. A man behind a bar was passing out drinks that the others were taking up eagerly. 

Snape wasn't sure where to go or what to do when the problem was solved for him. As he turned to get another look around, he saw Dumbledore right in front of him. At least he thought it was Dumbledore…the man certainly bore a resemblance, but he was much younger. His hair was a rich auburn shade, and his long beard had been replaced with a well-trimmed goatee. Snape squinted at his face, sure that it must be him.

There was then a great commotion around a small platform that was prominent in the little club and Dumbledore looked up eagerly, his face lighting up. Snape, not wanting to miss anything, also looked toward the stage.

Sylvia was standing on it, resplendent in a beaded gown of a purple hue, and holding on to a Muggle microphone rather carelessly, not looking more than a day or two younger than she did normally. 

She then began to sing, "Love me or leave me and let me be lonely; you won't believe me and I love you only. I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else." Something was unusual about the way she sang the song. Her eyes had noticed something—or somebody—and she didn't budge them an inch. In fact, she was staring straight at Dumbledore, who was staring straight back.

"You might find night time's the right time for kissing, but night time is my time for just reminiscing—regretting, instead of forgetting with somebody else." This was definitely unusual, Snape decided. Her eyes had not once left Dumbledore's, nor had his left hers. In fact, despite the extraordinary amount of people in the room, he felt as if he were interrupting a private moment between them.

"There'll be no one unless that someone is you…I intend to be independently blue…I want your love but I don't want to borrow, to have it today and give back tomorrow. Cause my love is your love, there's no love for nobody else."

There was a loud round of applause after the song, and Sylvia stepped confidently off the platform, walking straight toward Dumbledore. Snape heard the Headmaster's sharp intake of breath. It seemed as if he were nervous.

"Albus," Sylvia said, her voice even more contralto than normal; it sounded seductive, rich, and beautiful in its intonation. "You came." She seemed to sum up everything in the two words.

"Not for that reason," Dumbledore answered with obvious difficulty. Snape felt incredibly guilty, eavesdropping on their conversation, and tried to choose a position wherein he was more hidden. He then realized it didn't matter, since they couldn't see him anyway.

Her smile faltered a bit, but she picked it back up. "Do you want a drink?" she asked. "This damn prohibition is the only reason I want to come back to England."

"Why don't you, then?" he asked, his tone too intense to be that of one merely joking.

Her expression changed. "Come with me, Albus," she replied, leading him by the hand to the back of the establishment, apparently to her dressing room. Snape noted with a small smile that Albus Dumbledore, wise old sage, was watching the swinging of Sylvia's hips with more than just an arbitrary attention.

They entered her tiny dressing room, cluttered with clothes and…and books. Snape looked around him in awe, reminded of his bookshelf back at Hogwarts. Clearly Dr. Oliver was an avid reader.

"Why is it that you're here, Albus?" she asked, sitting down in front of her vanity with a sigh and picking up a hairbrush to work through her thick bobbed hair.

"A few days ago…Sylvia, did you notice anything here in America?"

"Did you notice anything in England?" she asked, suddenly looking a bit afraid. "Is it Grendelwald?"

"No, although we do fear he's growing in power. I've come upon some ancient texts, Sylvia, that I believe you could interpret for me. However, I've done the interpreting on my own."

It seemed that Sylvia was, at least, interpreting the look that he gave her, and Snape struggled to recognize what she was thinking. "You've found out about my mark, about what it does," she said in a tone of finality.

Dumbledore's voice was sad. "Yes. With Grendelwald…do you feel it?"

She shook her head firmly. "No. But—but a few days ago…I felt a great surge of power run through it…as strong as it had ever been. In fact, the only time it was stronger was the night it was given to me."

Dumbledore looked grim. "Then the Heir has been born," he replied. 

Sylvia looked dreamy. "I remember it so vividly, that year," she murmured.

***

Suddenly, the scene before Snape was spinning and swirling and spinning again and, without quite fully realizing what had happened he was in a different time, a different memory.

He looked about him in surprise. It was his room at Hogwarts! It definitely looked newer and better kept, but it was his same dingy, drab room. He then saw two figures seated before him on chairs, and recognized both with a certain amount of shock. A much younger Sylvia Oliver, looking, at most, fifteen, and…and Salazar Slytherin. 

He was sure of it! Slytherin looked to be in his late thirties. Not that bad looking though—not at all like the portraits of him later in life. His hair was sleek and black, and he kept a well-trimmed beard. He was actually quite handsome. Snape realized suddenly that this must have been Slytherin's bedroom as well.

Slytherin had several books before him, Snape noted, and stepped closer so that he could see, just in time to see Slytherin open one and flip through it. 

"Ah, yes. Here we are—the hexes that you were speaking of." Sylvia leaned in to get a closer look and he reciprocated the move, so that their heads were almost touching.

"I see," she said, reading over them quickly. "Would it be all right if I borrowed this book from you?"

"Yes, of course. But in a moment. First let me speak with you of something that I have not told the others yet. You will hold it in confidence?"

"Of course," she answered, looking at him questioningly. 

"Sylvia," he said smoothly, "you are the eldest of The Three, are you not?" She nodded. "And what have you sensed lately? Don't tell me you haven't felt it."

She looked at him fearfully. "An…an unbalance in Nature," she replied. Snape thought she looked distinctly nervous, and extremely young. 

"That's right, an unbalance in nature," Slytherin said, urging her to continue. "Something that you are supposed to correct."

"Yes," she answered, and Snape saw her wringing her hands on her richly embroidered, heavy blue robe. "That's what Ruth told me, when I learned I would be the eldest. I feel…powers…in me that I have never known before. There is a great evil coming, I can sense it. And I do not know how to stop it."

"A great evil?" he said gently, looking at her intensely. "No, I think not, Sylvia. You mistake it. It is not a great evil, it is nothing but a change—a change in temperature."

"Still, I must correct it," she said. Snape thought she looked like she had come to the moment she had feared the most. "And I know not how to do this."

"Stay calm, my dear. I know what is causing the unbalance."

"You do?" She said it so eagerly that she actually jumped off the chair. 

"Of course I do," he said, curling his lips up in the semblance of a smile. "It is I who has done this to Nature."

"You?" she said, at first not comprehending. "But—but how? And what do I have to do? Please, what do I do?" There was a certain tinge of panic in her voice, and Snape, being a man, could see the odious thoughts running through Slytherin's mind. She was so naïve, he realized, and so easily manipulated.

"Oh, you bastard," Snape said out loud, shaking his head in amaze, not thinking about the fact that he was cursing the founder of his own house. "You rat bastard. You are not going to do this to her."

"Sylvia, I should think you would know what you have to do," Slytherin, not hearing Snape's response, answered promptly. "If order and chaos merge, there is balance. When night and day mingle together, there is balance. When what you call evil and good need to be balanced, what do you think must happen?"

She stared at him hopelessly, clearly not understanding what he meant. "I don't know…" she murmured. Snape desperately wanted to hit the man sitting before her, lying shamelessly, and wished against hope that the Sorting Hat had paired him with one of the more upright Founding Four. He supposed, though, that Slytherin was just displaying the qualities that were looked for in his House members today—cunning, slyness, trickery.

"They must become one," Slytherin said firmly, and Snape ended his train of thought, not wanting to miss part of their conversation. "Do you know how?"

"No…I do not understand, Master Slytherin," she said, licking her lips nervously.

"Poor Sylvia, so uneducated about such things. What is good anyway, Sylvia? What is evil? They would say that you are good, and that I am evil, but these are not proper definitions. For us to be one, Sylvia, it's quite simple. You do know how a man and a woman become one?"

Her eyes widened as she began to comprehend his statement. "Yes…I believe so, Master Slytherin—Salazar. It is the only way to balance Nature?" she asked, her voice quavering with fear. Snape stood between them helplessly, trying to stop what was coming next, although he knew that he couldn't.

"The only way," Slytherin answered with finality in his voice, trying not to allow triumph to creep in, but Snape heard it anyway.

"Then I…then I will do it," she said with conviction, obviously trying to suppress her horror at having to be near this man.

"That's what I wanted to hear," he replied, and stood up briskly. "Now come, Sylvia, and I will show you such things as you have not learned," and taking her hand, he led her to his bed.

***

Snape shut his eyes, deciding he didn't want to witness what came next, and trying to control the anger burning within him at Slytherin. However, when he opened his eyes, the scene before him had changed, although he was in the same room with the same two people. Now it was night, Sylvia Oliver's belly was swollen with child, and she was slowly lowering herself onto the bed.

"He is your own child, Sylvia," Slytherin was saying in tones of great injury.

"He is your child," Sylvia responded, "not mine. I will know him for only a short while, after all. He will be your life."

"When do you expect he will be born?"

"Soon. This week." Snape thought it definitely looked that way. If she could have seemed any more uncomfortable, he wouldn't have believed it, and suddenly it all made sense. Sylvia had borne the Heir of Slytherin. No wonder Voldemort…he shuddered at the thought. After all, she and Voldemort had been related.

"You must hold him off for at least three days, until the Great Feast. What a portent if he was born on the holy day of Samhain!" Slytherin said grandly.

"He will come when he comes," she said irritably. 

"Sylvia," Slytherin said, an odd gleam in his eyes, "you will love the child, will you not?"

"What mother could not love her child?" she asked rhetorically, turning awkwardly on her side so as not to have to face him.

"But to you, he will soon be dead."

"Yes," she said briefly.

"Then, my dear," he wheedled, coming behind her and lacing his arms around her waist and bulging stomach, "don't you want to know where his heirs are? Always? So that you can know your progeny?"

"I suppose it would be nice," she replied absently.

"I can put a charm on you, a strong one, of very ancient magic," Slytherin said, and from the look on his face, Snape could tell it was a plan he had come up with long ago.

"There is no magic more ancient than that of the Three," she answered honestly.

"But this would link you to my heirs forever. Whenever you were within a few miles of them, or if they needed your help, it would summon you to them. Will you accept it?"

She slowly nodded her assent, clearly not thinking much of it. "Should we wait until after the child's birth?" she wondered out loud.

"No, it must be performed while the heir is in the womb," he replied, but it was easy for Snape to see that he was lying.

She laughed a little, and Snape recognized that she had heard the lie in his voice as well. "Oh, Salazar, you do spin a good tale."

"What am I to do now that you can see through my falsehoods?" he asked her with slight amusement, reaching for his wand. "Regardless, I want to perform the spell now."

She shrugged. "Very well. It is your child's life."

He readied his wand, and exposed her left breast. "I think over the heart would be nice, don't you?"

"Will there be a scar?" she asked.

"Yes, a slight one, in the shape of a triangle. It is where you will feel the pain."

"A triangle," she replied, "is the symbol of The Three."

"I know," he answered, "This part was my design. Can it not also be you, the child, and myself? Likewise, we are three."

"Perhaps," she said dismissively.

"Are you ready?" Slytherin asked anxiously.

"I'm ready," she said, closing her eyes. "Perform the spell."

Lifting his wand, Slytherin cried out, "_Natalis_! " and a great flash of blue light rushed down towards Sylvia's heart. She sat up quickly, her eyes wide and menacing, and outside Snape heard a large crash of thunder, followed by the sound of hail on the roof. She then fell back onto the pillow, unconscious. 

***

Again, before Snape had time to react to this, the memory was shifting. Now he was back in a time closer to the present, but his mind was still reeling at what he had seen happening between Slytherin and Sylvia. It explained her reaction to the portrait in his bedroom, and her hand over her heart. _That was where her mark was_!

He was clearly now in another Muggle club, but the clothes looked slightly more modern, so it was not as far back in the past. Sylvia was on stage again, this time in a glittering black dress with a long slit up the thigh.

She was singing, "…lately I've not slept a wink. Since this half-pint imitation put me on the blink. I'm wild again, beguiled again, a simpering, wimpering child again—bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I…"

There was a young man in the audience, Snape realized, with dashing good looks—jet-black hair, dark, brooding eyes. Eyes that were staring at Sylvia hungrily, possessively. 

She looked down and met the man's gaze by chance, and her hand clutched at her heart, her eyes wild and panicked, though her voice never faltered, "Couldn't sleep, and wouldn't sleep, when love came and told me I shouldn't sleep…"

Then Snape knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who the man was, although he certainly had looked different as Snape remembered him. This was Tom Riddle, not Voldemort.

Sylvia stepped down gracefully from the stage to polite applause and Tom Riddle was immediately at her side.

"Are you Sylvia de Agincourt?" he asked eagerly.

She looked him over slowly. "No one has called me that in a long time, my boy. I'm known as Sylvia Oliver now."

"Are you…are you Andromache?" Tom went on, his dark eyes widening with excitement.

"Yes. I know who you are as well, child. Come, and let's talk."

Tom didn't seem to enjoy the references to him as a child (Snape thought with a touch of irony that he certainly had never referred to the Dark Lord as a child), but willingly followed Sylvia out of the club into the crisp, cold air.

Sylvia wrapped her arms around herself, looking up at the sky. "It's been a long time since I've felt my mark burn, child. Did you come all the way here just to find me?"

"My name's Tom Riddle," he said impatiently, "and I'm not a child. I am Salazar Slytherin's heir, and I can do dark magic that you've never dreamed of. Of course I came here to find you."

"Tom," she said tiredly, "there is nothing that I haven't dreamed of. No dark magic, no white magic, no good, no evil, nothing." Her eyes seemed to glow with intensity as she said it, and even Tom had to shrink away. "What do you want with me?"

"Mother," he said intensely, approaching her slowly until he had her pinned against a wall. "You are my mother, aren't you?"

"I'm not your mother, Tom. Perhaps in a manner of speaking, yes, I'm your foremother. Not your direct mother."

"You were Slytherin's mistress—"

"Wife," she said immediately, looking hurt.

"Yes. You were with him. I want to know how to do what he did. Can't you show me, Mother?" He smiled sickly, and Snape turned away, because the look in his eyes was all too familiar and too disgusting.

"I can show you everything you desire," she said simply. Her voice wasn't seductive or sexual at all, merely that of one offering a benevolent favor. "What do you want to know, my child?"

"I want to be more than your child," Tom said, leaning his head closer to hers. "I want to be both, even more than Slytherin was. A double bond is stronger. So I will be child and lover, and I'll have more power than he ever knew."

She sighed. "Yes, you will," she admitted.

"Severus," Sylvia said softly, and Snape turned, shocked. She was there, with Tom, and next to him, wearing a nightdress.

"Sylvia. I—I'm sorry, I saw your Pensieve and I just…"

"It's all right, Sevy. It's better for you to know. Let's leave them," she gestured to herself and Voldemort, "alone."

"What happens next?" he asked, wanting desperately to know.

"I was biding my time. I knew that if I could get The Three of us together, we could destroy him, like we had to do with Slytherin eventually. But it would do horrible things to me as well."

"What things?" he asked.

"After Slytherin, I was deeply unbalanced. I had grown so used to his evil that, once he was gone, I craved it still. It took nearly a century for me to recover. Now that Tom is gone, I am going through the same process." She took his hand, and they were suddenly back in her bedroom.

"But it's not as hard as it was with Slytherin," he prompted, trying to get her to tell him more.

She sat down heavily on her bed. "No," she admitted. "Remus has been a help to me. It's very different this time because my One is alive. The way that we know our One is that we feel that Nature has been supremely righted, and that all is in harmony. That has counterbalanced the evil in me."

He was dying to ask her if Remus was the One, but couldn't bring himself to do it. His mind was whirling with all that he had seen and experienced that night, and he realized all of a sudden that he was deeply tired. So, bidding her good night, he left her room, deep in thought. After he was gone, she sighed slowly, clutching the triangle that was emblazoned over her heart.

***

I hope that you liked it! By the way, copious thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, including: **Lilith Morgana** (I love your story, btw, Severa introduced it to me); **Rosmerta** the fabulous first reviewer and lover of the philosopher's song; **Severa** (maybe we could do a crossover with Mallory and Sylvia? I didn't really mean to insult her); **Jessica**, the lover of Caesar, Krycek, and more baddies; **Rushumble**, who is a great giver of constructive criticism; **Sphinx**, with whom I hope I can co-own intellectual Snape; **Blackletter**, who loves the fast-paced world of classics; **Kaire Epsilon**, whose surname is from my favorite alphabet ever; **Velvet**, who I really hope will come back and read more of my little story; **Lunakitten**, who also shares a love of philosophy; **Raistlin Majere** (I'm glad you were patient while I revealed Dr. O's secrets); **EowynStar** (I love HP and the Futile Curse! You are doing a great job on it, not to mention the Austin Powers crossover);** Himitsu Natsume** (the Survivor crossover is hilarious!); and last but not least, **All's Well that Ends Well**, who I hope comes back to read more.

Thanks, y'all! Keep your reviews coming. Sometimes they make me all teary-eyed with joy. Enough sap, though. See you soon.


	12. Conversations

A/N: First things first, I want to thank Jessica ("they're all dead…they're all dead") for valiantly attempting to beta-read t

A/N: First things first, I want to thank Jessica ("they're all dead…they're all dead") for valiantly attempting to beta-read this chapter. My patience is all gone though, and I'm posting it now. Thanks anyway, P-Phunk. No pun intended (the Caesar salad).  Blackletter—perhaps I am another you, I'm not sure. I am into Classical philology.  Ginger—I'm going to Rhodes College! Well, read on everyone. I hope you enjoy it. Chapter Twelve

For the next few weeks, Snape avoided contact with every human being he could reasonably stay away from, save his students, whom he glared at stonily. Cassandra had often tried to speak with him, putting her hand on his arm comfortingly or leaving him a box of Chocolate Frogs at the door of his room. But he always shook her off. He had too much to think about right now. And after he had figured it all out, perhaps things would go back to normal. That was what he hoped.

As for Sylvia, he didn't need to try to avoid her. She didn't seek him out, because she had a distraction arrive a week before school ended for holiday. It came in the form of Remus Lupin, whom Snape saw walking down the hallway in patched plaid robes, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. For some reason, this sight made him want to vomit.

Finally, mercifully, the last day of school came, and Snape thought joyously how he could spend the entire holiday—alone, in his room, with no students to glare at and time to think it all through. Unfortunately, after his last class, Albus Dumbledore suddenly appeared in his room, looking concerned.

"Severus, may I talk with you?" he asked.

Snape sighed. He didn't want to talk about Sylvia, and he knew that that was what the headmaster had come for. Yet how could he refuse him? 

"Please, come into my office," he said courteously, leading the older man to the cold and drab room.

Dumbledore settled down into a highly uncomfortable chair, looking completely at ease. "Professor Snape, you have seemed quite preoccupied lately. Is something troubling you?"

Snape was tempted to answer, "Yes, everything", but said instead, "Headmaster, a few weeks ago I saw Dr. Oliver's Pensieve."

Dumbledore leaned forward with interest. "And did you look inside it?" he wondered.

"Yes, I did," Snape said heavily. "It explained a lot of things to me, but I'm afraid it also left me with more questions than answers."

"Do you think you could share with me what you saw?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape sighed. "Certainly," he replied, and suddenly he was telling the headmaster everything. The words just wouldn't stop coming. "I saw Slytherin perform a spell on Sylvia…the _Natalis_ spell, very dark and ancient magic. I remember researching it during my days…my days of previous employment. It links a person to his or her heirs. It hasn't been used for years and years; it was devised, obviously, a long time ago when mistaken heirs might come to claim a throne. But it's painful, very painful for the recipient of the spell if the heir is in pain or needs their help…" A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Albus, what if Voldemort is still alive?"

Dumbledore looked troubled. "Yes, I've thought of that myself, many times. Sylvia could lead us to him, potentially. I've never asked her about it, but I imagine that she _is_ in pain, almost constantly. I believe he's out there, biding his time, but she knows for sure. What else did you see, Severus?"

"I saw Tom Riddle with Sylvia, and I saw her promise to help him." A question he had been burning to ask suddenly spilled out. "Why would she do that, Headmaster, why?"

The headmaster shook his head, looking weary. "It is something I do not understand. As the eldest of The Three, Severus, Sylvia senses an unbalance in Nature most keenly. And if she finds evil in overabundance, she tries to counterbalance it with good. What she did for Tom she did not because it was him, but because it was what seemed to her the good thing to do."

Snape nodded his head slowly, then thought of the first memory that had come to him from the Pensieve—Albus Dumbledore, young and obviously in love. "Headmaster, the only other memory of Sylvia's that I saw…was between you and her." He could have sworn that Dumbledore's eyes brightened.

"Is that so?" he said, smiling a bit. "I've always been told I was a handsome rogue when I was younger. What do you think, Severus?"

"Did you love her?" Snape asked point-blank, hoping to catch the man off balance. "Did you think that you were the One?" This question had been tormenting him for days. 

Dumbledore then looked down, something close to defeat in his countenance. "Who wouldn't? Do you know how many men have loved that woman, Severus? How many, from centuries ago until now, thought that they must be her One and her true love? And when she tells you that you are not…it is not something easily lived with. You know, I believe that Salazar Slytherin and Tom Riddle were perhaps the only two who didn't harbor that secret delusion. They both knew they were wrong for her, but they wanted her anyway, because of the power that she held, and that she could use against them."

Snape then asked, tentatively, the question that was most important to him. "Who is the One?"

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, something unreadable in his face, then stood heavily and answered, "That's between Sylvia and the One. Forgive me, Severus. I must go." With that, he left Snape's office, weariness showing in each of his steps.

***

By now, he had practically made a profession out of avoiding Lupin and Sylvia, and he had come up with what he thought were excuses of high caliber.After all, the weather was too cold for them to jog, and certainly too cold for her to work on her archeological site. He didn't have to see Grayson in class and he assumed that the boy had gone home for the holidays to see Ulysses.Still, he had to admit that he missed his philosophical discussions with Socrates' daughter. 

But most importantly, Sylvia and Lupin were gone for a week, into Muggle London, to spend a few days "living as Muggles" for the fun of it. He found this out from the pretty, blonde-haired Sophie, the youngest of the Three, whom he ran into one afternoon in the hallway.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she said cheerfully.

He had mistaken her at first for one of his students. "Ah, yes…" he said quizzically, looking her over and trying to remember who she was.

"It's Sophia St. Paul," she said promptly, shaking his hand. "I am one of Dr. Oliver's associates." His face must have darkened visibly, for she then added, "Is something troubling you about Dr. Oliver, Professor Snape?"

"Everything," he admitted.

"Let's talk for a moment," she said, gesturing to an empty classroom. "I know it must be hard for you, Professor Snape. After all, we have all had our little flings. Rosamund is the exception—she says she wants to remain chaste for her One, but I think it was because of…well, I suppose I shouldn't tell you."

"Please, continue," he said politely, his ears pricked for gossip.

She sighed, and sat down in one of the desks. "Rosamund is different. She's confused. After being rejected by a man, she grew to hate them. I think she told Sylvia about it, expecting to find commiseration and…and companionship. Sylvia says that Rosamund tried to—how do you say?—make a move on her."

"Really," he said, whistling. Cassandra (he thought of her with a sharp pang) had been right; there was enough dirt here to fill books upon books.

"But that wasn't what I wanted to speak to you about. I know it's hard for you to look at Sylvia and not see all the other men who have been with her. But what you have to understand is—"

"Miss St. James, I appreciate your concern," he said crisply, turning as if to leave. "But I have to inquire as to why you're telling me this. Certainly you don't think that I am romantically interested in Dr. Oliver."

Sophie's jaw dropped. "You mean you didn't…she didn't…great Zeus! Please, Professor, don't mention to her that we talked. I didn't know that you…I'm sorry…please just—"

"I won't mention anything to her," he snapped. "I'm not inclined to want to talk to her ever again."

Sophie's eyes widened. "Really? But surely Professor…"

"She has been deceitful towards me, Miss St. James, and I cannot tolerate that. I will not tolerate that," he repeated as he stalked out of the room, ruing ever having gotten into this strange conversation with the youngest of the Three. He personally found Rosamund the most appealing at this moment, no matter what the other two thought of her. She was the loner, and he could sympathize with that. 

***

Slowly, Snape was coming to terms with it all. It may have been a long road, but he thought he was certainly ready to see Cassandra again, and he might even bring himself to speak with Sylvia, if Lupin wasn't lurking around her like the overprotective werewolf that he was.

With a deep breath, he proceeded towards the Divination tower, and felt his heartbeat picking up. He hoped Cassandra would forgive him for his weeks of silence, and he was sure she would. She was an understanding person, after all. He now even wondered how he had been able to survive all these weeks without her, and was overcome with desire.

He knocked on her door a bit nervously, and was relieved to hear her yell, "Come on in! It's open."

But when he walked in, a very un-relieving sight met his eyes. Almost all of Cassandra's things had been packed up, and it looked as if she was moving out of the room.

"Are you going home for the holidays?" he asked. It was a stupid question. She wouldn't have uprooted her entire room if she were planning on coming back.

"I'm leaving, Severus, and I won't be back," she said calmly, her green eyes unruffled. 

"But why? And what about Divination class?" he asked, staring at her in what he knew must be a rather idiotic manner.

"Sibyll will be coming back to teach it," she replied, folding up some clothes and placing them in a trunk.

"I thought it was a bad year for her," Snape said before he could stop himself. He still remembered when Cassandra had told the faculty why she had come to Hogwarts. It was a day he had thought he would never forget, and that he could perhaps have told his grandchildren about—the day when the two of them met.

"That…was a lie, Severus," Cassandra answered honestly, although it seemed hard for her to say it. "I went to Sibyll and asked her to take the year off. I wanted to come to Hogwarts for reasons not limited to Divination."

"Please don't tell me this has anything to do with Sylvia," he moaned. Just when he thought he had it all neatly categorized, yet another reference to Dr. Oliver was not what he needed. And why did everything have to be connected to her? Was she really the center of the universe? Was she that super-human that Nietzsche had spoken of? And, most importantly, what would Friedrich have said if he had met her? Would he have been as shocked as Snape had when he heard the story of the eldest of the Three?

"Severus," Cassandra said, bringing him back from his philosophical musings, and he looked up at her, a little embarrassed to have been so swept away. "I came here to gather information for my book on Andromache."

"So it is about her," he confirmed, trying to control a sudden surge of anger. "And now you've gathered all the information you need, and you were just going to leave without a second thought of me?" He didn't know he could be so angry. In days that now seemed long ago, he remembered frequent outbursts like this, and he also remembered the ways that he would vent his anger. Many an innocent had been punished for the anger of Severus Snape, and he idly wondered what would happen this time.

Cassandra looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I haven't finished my book," she admitted. "Andromache knew about it, but she…she didn't approve of my methods of obtaining knowledge."

"What did you do?" Snape asked with horror, wondering what could be so awful.

She turned away from him. "I can't tell you, Severus. If you're so intent on knowing, you should ask her. But it's time for me to go. Please, leave me."

"Cassandra!" he said desperately. "What about us? I thought you loved me. I thought…I thought I loved you." He said the end quietly, feeling defeated. Everyone that he had ever loved had turned away from him. He was beginning to think that he must have some sort of disease.

"I'm sorry, Severus" was all she said, and she shut the door in his face, leaving the Potions Master alone with his thoughts and his disease.

***

Geez, Snape just got totally shut down. Sorry for any of you hopeless Cassandra/Sevy romantics. Oh, I am also posting "Shivered Glass", my new Lupin/Sylvia fic that explains how they met…kind of. Please read and review! I would like to thank all my normal reviewers (please refer to Chapter Eleven if you don't know who you are) and I would also like to thank my new reviewers: **Anna, Magdalen, Ginger Donahue, Kissaki, Firebrand, **and **Bunny**! Oh, and a special thanks to **kateydidnt**, whom I forgot last chapter. I love you all! J


	13. A Greek Lesson

A/N: Buongiorno

**A/N: **Buongiorno! I apologize to everyone for taking so long to update. I have been in Rome for the last three weeks, so now updates should come much more regularly. Also, I would like to give a warning. This chapter contains a Greek lesson with a bit of Herodotus mixed in for Severa's sake (a repayment, if you will), not to mention Derek Jacobi. It is mostly invective, but if you read carefully, you may find things in here that will be rather crucial to the plot later on. 

** **

**Chapter Thirteen**

** **

He spent the next few days in complete shock, realizing with a bit of a rueful smile that he had just come out of the shock of learning more about Sylvia. If this was where having emotions got him, it was no wonder that he had been alone for all those years. He thought that it was probably a better life than this hell he was going through now.

Christmas Day came and so did Sylvia and Lupin, brimming over with tales of Muggle London, holding hands, singing Christmas carols, and making almost everyone (if, when one said everyone, one meant of course that everyone was limited to Severus Snape) feel ill.

He heard Sylvia talking breathlessly to Sophie in the hallway as he passed them on his way to the Great Hall for the feast. "And then we went to see this moving picture, called Henry V, and it was amazing! There was this incredible actor that played the Chorus…I think his name was Derek Jacobi…"

His presents this year had been the normal meager fare—a nice quill from Dumbledore, a small Potions book from McGonagall, a plant for his office from Sprout. A present from Cassandra was conspicuously absent. After all the times that they had shared together, she couldn't have left him anything? That hurt the most.

When he sat down in the festive Great Hall with the professors and a few of the students, he noted with a stab of pain that Professor Trelawney was back. So Cassandra was gone for good. 

As Sylvia came in with Sophie, followed closely by Rosamund and Lupin, she broke away from them to approach him. She was wearing a deep purple robe and he realized, a little bashfully, that she looked beautiful. He banished the thought from his mind. He was NOT going to get caught up in the long list of men that she already held to her credit.

"Sevy," she said, patting him on the shoulder, "I've brought you a Christmas present." She handed him a brightly wrapped package.

"Oh, yes, of course, as friends," he stammered, thinking about how he hadn't gotten her anything. "Friends give each other gifts. Well, yes, yours is down in my room. I'll bring it to you…uh…soon."

She gave him a strange look. "Sure, Sevy, whatever," she said, smiling, and rejoined Lupin, Rosamund, and Sophie at the other end of the table. 

He looked down at the package in his hands, and slowly opened it. Inside was a copy of The Complete Works of Plato and underneath it, a worn piece of parchment. He unfolded it, and determined it was unintelligible. Why would she give him that?

He then opened the book and noticed a note on the inside cover. 

Sevy,

Along with the book I wanted to give you a letter that my father once wrote to Plato. I have had to magically seal it so that it did not fall apart, but I want you to have it now. I hope you can read Greek.

Love, Sylvia

A letter that her father had once written to Plato! It was in Socrates' own hand. He picked it back up eagerly and tried to read it, but of course he didn't know Greek. He would have to get her help in reading it. 

The Christmas feast was a blur to him and he couldn't wait for it to be over; he practically tore Sylvia away from Lupin. He couldn't help but bestow a sneer upon the other man when he saw Lupin's face contort in anger.

"Sylvia, you must teach me Greek! I want to read this, and I want to read it now!"

She looked slightly bemused by his excitement. "Sevy, no one, not even you, can learn Greek in a day."

"We should begin at once though," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her down the stairs towards his office.

"What about my Christmas present?" she asked, a smile touching the corners of her lips.

"Yes…that…well…" he said, looking away.

"Oh Sevy, it's the thought that counts. Don't worry about it. Come with me to my room instead of yours, and I might have an old textbook or at least something up there that's in Greek. But I must warn you—"

"Warn me? Of what?" he asked.

"I'm afraid it may be a little boring at first," she answered, her smile crinkling her eyes.

"What could be boring about Greek?" he responded, trying to ignore the crinkles and the smile.

***

He had spoken too soon, far too soon. He had heard about catatonic states before, but this time he was sure he had achieved one. All he could hear was the intonation of Sylvia's voice as he slumped down in the armchair. He didn't even understand the words anymore.

"…Such is the account which the Persians give of these matters. They trace to the attack upon Troy their ancient enmity towards the Greeks. The Phoenicians, however, as regards Io, vary from the Persian statements. They deny that they used any violence to remove her into Egypt; she herself, they say, having formed an intimacy with the captain, while his vessel lay at Argos, and perceiving herself to be with child, of her own free will accompanied the Phoenicians on their leaving the shore, to escape the shame of detection and the reproaches of her parents. Whether this latter account be true, or whether the matter happened otherwise, I shall not discuss further. I shall proceed at once to point out the person who first within my own knowledge inflicted injury on the Greeks, after which I shall go forward with my history, describing equally the greater and the lesser cities... I shall therefore discourse equally of both, convinced that human happiness never continues long in one stay…"

She had told him what she was reading, and he vaguely remembered the name Herodotus mentioned, but at this point, he considered it a welcome repose when Lupin finally returned to the room, looking angry and vaguely disappointed.

"Sylvia, may we speak?" he asked, biting his lip nervously. She looked up from the book she had been reading out of, and nodded slightly. Something more than Snape understood was implied in the nod, and he had a feeling that whatever she had just communicated was not what Lupin had wanted.

"Do you mind?" Lupin continued, looking at Snape pointedly. 

"We'll just be a moment," Sylvia added, smiling weakly.

"Of course," he replied coldly, leaving the room with a smirk for Lupin. He then positioned himself directly outside the door, to hear whatever he could make out of the conversation.

As he stood there, feeling a bit guilty for eavesdropping and making sure that the corridor was completely empty, he was only able to pick up bits and pieces of their discussion, which seemed to be degenerating into argument status.

"…you promised me that you would wait…" That was Lupin, sounding uncharacteristically upset.

"Remus, I'm sorry but I can't help it if the situation…" She then lowered her voice, as if realizing that Snape might be able to hear them, much to his own disappointment. 

He had just heard another snippet ("It had to be this way eventually!") when something cut into the sound of Sylvia's voice. It was an unmistakable whistle, bright and cheery. It was Dumbledore, and it was coming towards him.

Ashamed to be caught listening like an errant maid, but left without time to escape, he walked swiftly towards the opposite end of the corridor and then doubled around, to make it look as if he was coming from the other direction. Presently he saw the long white beard and the half-moon spectacles glinting in the torchlight.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, bestowing a smile upon him. "I hope this Yuletide finds you well."

"I am not as well as I could be, Headmaster, but I suppose I am at my best for what the situation requires," he said, with a nervous glance at Sylvia's door.

"Yes. I am sorry about Cassandra. I should have known…I must admit, Severus, that it may have been a measure of jealousy that blinded me to the truth." Dumbledore looked sad and even a bit embarrassed.

Snape wasn't quite sure what he was talking about, but this was often the case when he was around the man. So he just nodded and murmured his thanks.

"It must be difficult for you," Dumbledore continued. "If you ever have the desire to talk, you know where I am."

"Of course. Thank you, sir," he replied, and watched the older man amble off until he could no longer see him. Then he immediately resumed his vigil at the door.

There was now silence behind it, though, to his amazement. Silence, or, he supposed, very soft talking. He slowly lapsed into boredom, and began reviewing the Greek alphabet in his mind.

He was there for several more minutes while the door yielded no more information to him, and he continued his impromptu study session. Eventually, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the hall and leapt out of the way, coming to rest as innocently as possible several feet away, leaning against a tapestry.

He watched Remus Lupin exiting the chamber, and was about to make a snide remark when he realized that the other man's eyes were bright with unshed tears, a sight which rather took him aback.

Lupin then turned those eyes to him, with a look horrible in its intensity of suffering, of inner pain. 

"You go in," he heard Lupin say. "It's your turn now."

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I would love to highly thank all my most wonderful reviewers, both old and new. My old chums, you know who you are and that I love you dearly. The new ones I would like to mention by name: **Ann, AndiCarmen, CIC, Sierra-Celine, Ada Kensington, Ludigein, Snapesbabygirl, Mimi, **and** Helena Darjeeling. **I love you all and am so glad that you have been reading my little story!


	14. St. Valentine's Day

A/N: I don't think this chapter needs much introduction, but "Unchained Melody" belongs to Alex North and Hy Zaret, who wrote 

**A/N: **I don't think this chapter needs much introduction, but "Unchained Melody" belongs to Alex North and Hy Zaret, who wrote and composed it, and everyone but my handful of characters belong to J.K. Rowling. That's about it!

** **

**Chapter Fourteen**

By now, close as it was to Valentine's Day, he had forgotten what Sylvia had said to him after he returned to her chamber that night. But he would never forget the look in Remus Lupin's eyes that had been directed at him, that look of anger and grief and mourning.

Life had continued at the pace that life had always continued at, and he had watched as the Christmas holidays were swept away, along with Lupin (and Cassandra, he reminded himself occasionally—but he tried not to think about her), as classes resumed, and he once again had to deal with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, as the thick snow that blanketed the grounds grew increasingly less and less thick, and he resumed his jogs with Dr. Oliver. 

Now it was February, damp and mostly gloomy, and he was working on the optative mood and Xenophon with his Greek mentor and feeling quite blissful in the apathy he had adopted after Cassandra's sudden departure. It was as if he had returned to the days when he could take the life of another with hardly a trace of guilt. That was what the Dark Lord had always said was his greatest quality—his remorselessness that was based in the apathy he thrived on. He thrived on it now once again.

If his students had noticed that something was different about him, they certainly hadn't said anything. But when he coldly took fifty points from Ravenclaw on account of Grayson Oliver speaking out of turn, he learned that the first year sent his "older sister" (though he guessed the two were hardly related) to fight his battles.

She didn't seem so worried about it, though. In fact, she was smiling and her eyes, which matched both her grey robe and the atmosphere outside, were bright.

"I heard that you were a bit harsh on Grayson today," she commented right before the two began their daily Greek lesson.

"I see he's too cowardly to approach me himself," he replied coolly. 

She gave him a rather exasperated look. "He didn't ask me to talk to you. But something's been different about you, Sevy, these last few weeks. What's going on?"

"What's going on?" he asked, laughing mirthlessly. "It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, Sylvia."

Her mouth tightened. "I'm sorry about Cassandra. I should have known better than to trust her, and I blame myself—"

"Dumbledore said the same thing, you know," he said, cutting her off. "Apparently everyone takes the blame except for the one person who ought to feel it most keenly."

Her face softened. "Just as long as you don't think it has something to do with you, Sevy. I'd hate for you to think that."

He was quickly losing his resolve on the apathy, and after a moment of awkward silence, what had been brooding in his mind ever since the incident came out his mouth. 

"And you think it doesn't? Sylvia, I'm positively odious. I should have been suspicious of her right from the start. A woman so beautiful could never see anything in me. No woman could ever see anything in me."

"Severus, don't!" Sylvia replied passionately, biting her lip. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but then caught herself and continued in an even tone of voice. "Don't you remember what the philosophers have said about the soul, how it is where the true beauty lies?"

"There is no soul," he answered dully. "Haven't you read Nietzsche and Sartre?"

She looked torn, as if she wanted to say something more, but thought better of it. "All right," she said finally. "Show me everything that you know about the optative mood."

***

On Valentine's Day, he tried to ignore the occasional cut-out heart and the magical sweets that he saw the students passing one another furtively in the Great Hall at breakfast, along with their shy giggles and reckless teenage abandon. The last thing he wanted to be thinking about was the woman that he thought he had known and loved, and what they might have been doing together on this day. 

He sat down heavily next to Sylvia, who was eating an English muffin with cherry preserves on top, and dressed for the occasion in robes of the palest mauve.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she said to him, smiling.

"I only wish," he muttered, not knowing at the time that by the end of the day, everything would have changed.

***

That night he appeared on the dot of eight at Sylvia's door as usual, ready for his Greek lesson, with his textbook in hand. They had moved on from the optative mood now to the imperative, and she had said that she was pleased with his success.

When she opened the door, her face was surprisingly grave. Snape thought that she looked distinctly nervous. He was about to ask her if anything was the matter when she indirectly answered his unasked question.

"Sevy, I'm sorry if I appear a little anxious," she said, giving him a smile that lacked warmth. "There's something I need to tell you, and I'm not sure how."

"Sylvia, you know that you can tell me anything. We're friends, right?" he replied uncertainly, saying it half to reassure himself, much less her. He was wondering what might possibly be the matter.

A shadow flitted across her face. "Yes, friends," she repeated. "Severus, I don't know how to explain this to you, and I've been thinking about it for days. Perhaps it would be best to show you something that you could understand. Here." She held her hand out to him.

"What is it?" he asked. The hand that she proffered was empty. 

"I can show you a memory. It's similar to my Pensieve. I don't think it should be strange to you."

He looked at her face, taut with some repressed concern, and her hand, which lay ready for him. He then took a deep breath and grasped it. 

He was in a whirlwind of shapes and colors and scents and sounds. Occasionally he could make out a voice or a face, but it would soon retreat back into the kaleidoscope. The only thing solid he felt was Sylvia's hand. 

Still grasping it firmly, he felt his feet hit the ground and looked around him. They had landed in a wide street with overhanging trees. The scent of magnolia was in the air, and beside them on both sides of the street were small stores and small houses.

Sylvia was before him and beside him. He looked at both, a little confused. Beside him, she was still wearing the pale mauve robes. Before him, she wore a knee-length dress of deep lavender with white trim.

She was deep in conversation with a police officer, who looked friendly enough in his cheerful blue uniform. Both sported thick Southern accents.

"…We're just right glad you came back here to work on your Doc'trit, Miz Oliver," the officer said. 

"It's good to be back home," she answered.

"And how 'bout this boy you've brought with you? Are you plannin' on bein' wed?"

"Time will tell, Bob," she said, then added, "Would you excuse me now? I really need to get back to work."

Snape and Sylvia followed the past Sylvia (Snape had to admit it was a bit confusing) into one of the small houses. It was dingy and rather dark, but the colors on the wall and the couches were bright and the room was well-lit with floor lamps. The Sylvia of the past dropped her handbag on the couch with a sigh and immediately sat down before a typewriter and began to bang away.

"This is what you wanted to show me?" Snape asked present-Sylvia, who was standing beside him, looking curiously at herself. 

"Just wait," she replied. 

He stood in silence, and could hear the radio announcer speaking in a soft, faraway voice. "I've got a new one for you folks…just came out last week. Here's Mr. Al Hibbler, singing his hit song for y'all."

The room was filled after a few brief seconds with the somewhat ethereal sound of a man's voice singing. "Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered for your touch a long, lonely time . . ."

A moment later, the door opened and a tall young man with obsidian hair and eyes as black as midnight (and, Snape though, full of even more secret designs than the witching hour itself) walked up to Sylvia, caressing her on the shoulder.

"Riddle," Snape whispered, and it wasn't a question. He watched as the two of them shared the look of those that know each other well, those that have lived together for a long time.

"Andromache," Riddle murmured, and she looked at him quietly, urging him to continue. "Mother, I have found the information that you wanted. Are you proud of me?"

"Always," she said briefly. "But if you will give me a moment, I really must finish this page of my dissertation."

"Ah yes," Riddle replied with a smirk on his face, "That. Why do you bother with such Muggle nonsense?"

"Why do you ask such pointless questions?" she replied, typing the end of a page with great relish, then turning to face him. "What have you found that you think I will find so important?"

He leaned in towards her, tracing her jaw line with his thumb in a manner that implied ownership. "I know who he is," he replied softly.

Her entire body language changed from languid to attentive. "Who?" she asked, eyes wide, staring deep into his eyes. "And how did you find out?" she added, almost as an afterthought.

He laughed coolly. "Wouldn't you like to know? Suffice it to say, Mother, that it was an ancient and dark magic I used. I hope you don't mind," he answered, running a hand through her hair. "I can even give you his name, love. And he's mine, too."

"No," she whispered, giving him a troubled look. "He couldn't be. Tell me more."

"Not until you give me a reason to, Mother," he replied, kissing her neck.

After that, all was silent save for the radio, which was dimly singing, "I need your love,I need your love, God speed your love to me."

Then present-Sylvia touched him gently on the shoulder. "We should go now, shouldn't we?" she asked. 

Snape, who had thoughts he considered unmentionable swirling through his mind with great rapidity, did not respond, though his look told her everything she needed to know. He then took her hand.

One short kaleidoscope ride later, they were back in her chamber, and Sylvia sat down demurely on the edge of her bed. 

"Do you understand?" she asked.

"Not completely," he answered truthfully. 

"Albus thinks I came here so that he could help me through my transition from Tom's evil. That was only part of the reason why, Sevy. Cassandra came here to write a book on me, but she could have written it at any other stage in my life. Why here? Why now?" She waited nervously for him to continue her train of thought.

He shook his head. "No," he said finally. He didn't want to believe that Cassandra was capable of something so odious. "No, Sylvia."

She looked sorrowful. "Cassandra and I botched things something awful, didn't we, Sevy? We got things marvelously mixed up." She attempted a weak smile. "She should have been nothing more than your friend while I…well, I…"

"You should be my One," he whispered, at last meeting her eyes, gray on black, and seeing that they confirmed what he had just realized.

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Thanks so much to my new reader, **Ariana Deralte**! Keep reviewing, you guys! I hope you are happy about finally finding out Sylvia's big secret, which some of you had already realized. Kudos to you for figuring it out. Oh, and if you wanted to see it—[here][1] is the dress that Sylvia wore in her scene with Riddle.

   [1]: http://www.ballyhoovintage.com/images/7062.jpg



	15. Dreams and Visions

Chapter Fifteen

**A/N:** This chapter took so long to go up due to the unexpected absence of ffnet for a while, which I'm sure we all suffered from. There is some mush ahead, so be aware, but in retaliation, there's also some dark stuff. Also, the chapters may come less frequently because I am now in college! Still, I will try to keep everything expedient. Hope you like it! 

**Chapter Fifteen**

** **

After confirming something that he felt he already knew (though how or how long he had known it, he was unsure), Severus Snape did something that he had never done before, something that he had always thought of before as a thing that would cause regret, an idea not worth the consequences. Severus Snape acted on impulse. 

Leaning in towards Sylvia, he began to kiss her, and she responded with passion. As his lips met hers, he felt for the first time as if the great void he had felt for so long, the emptiness in his soul, the great evil he had done had been undone, that the vast misshapen pieces of his life had been righted. He tangled one of his hands in her hair and with the other began to undo the tiny buttons on the back of her robe.

Hurriedly, she broke away from the kiss, and for a moment he could only blink back at her, surprised.

"I just thought," she said in an unnaturally nervous voice, "That we could talk. Figure out more of this mystery, don't you think? I mean, it's really so very interesting that you are so enamored of philosophy and that my father…my father…"

"All right," he said slowly. As to what might be bothering her, he had no idea, but he thought it best to let her have her way. He then told her the story of his visit to Greece, and how he ended up in the small bookshop, examining a copy of The Republic. "When I opened it up and read a few words," he explained, "Suddenly everything felt better. The world seemed clearer…I'm not sure how to describe it…" He then broke off, a little embarrassed.

But she was leaning forward with interest. He took a moment to admire how her honeyed hair fell around her face, and the many enigmas in her hazel eyes. How had he not realized before how beautiful she was?

"Sevy," she said, sounding excited. "Do you think that maybe when you read the words of Plato, the words of my father, that Nature was giving you a clue about me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, Sylvia," he answered frankly. "All I know is that right now…I feel more alive than I have ever felt before."

She smiled at him, and he remembered how he loved the crinkles that appeared around her eyes. "This is new for me," she admitted. "It seems a little strange, to have been alive for thousands of years and have something new happen. But there's never been another One. You are the first."

They talked for what seemed forever to Snape, and when he finally rose to go, he embraced her again, and felt the same warmth wash over him, as if he had been immersed in her goodness.

He then walked down the corridors to his room, grinning foolishly, feeling like an adolescent again. His sense of mirth even increased when he ran into one irate Professor McGonagall, tartan robe and all. He had never noticed how stunningly angry she could look.

"Severus," she exclaimed (to him, it sounded like more of a screech), "You've got lipstick all over your mouth."

Smiling at her, he rubbed his hand absentmindedly across his lips. "Do I?" he asked. "I suppose I do."

"Really, this is out of hand," she proclaimed. "Who have you been seeing at this late hour? Don't you know that the school has a reputation to maintain?"

"Don't worry, Minerva," he said lightheartedly. "I promise I will keep the manner in which I act respectful to the dignity of the school." He remembered when he had admonished Sylvia with the same words, and had to suppress a laugh.

With that, he left her, and retired to his rooms. 

***

He seemed to fall asleep almost immediately, a silly smile on his face. He only assumed that the dream came soon after. 

He saw the visage of the Dark Lord, the face that had been haunting him for years, horrible and gruesome. A hood covered his head, but not his face. He sneered unpleasantly at Snape, who was cowering on the floor before him. 

"So, you think she is yours now," he said coldly, slowly bringing his long, thin fingers together and up under his chin.

"I…she is…" Snape gasped, suddenly hoarse and unable to speak at all. He realized grimly that he was very afraid, and he hated himself for it, for this weakness of his. He wanted to be strong for Sylvia, to be able to protect her.

"She belongs to me, you know. She always will. Her mark has connected her to me…forever. And neither of us will die, unless you interfere." All of this was said with a slight smirk, as if Voldemort was daring Snape to even attempt to interfere.

"Sylvia does not belong to you!" Snape said, before he could help himself. He regretted it almost immediately as he heard the other man's high, cold laugh.

"Even so," Voldemort replied matter-of-factly, "One thing still remains true, slave. Even if darling Sylvia is not mine, this much is certain. YOU belong to me. And you will do my bidding." He laughed again, and Snape shivered. Then he smiled mirthlessly, and Snape's Dark Mark burned horribly, vividly black, as he heard the Dark Lord whisper a word he dreaded. "Crucio," he murmured, and Snape wondered at the fact that he did not even have to say it with great force. He only had an instant to wonder at it, before pain, horrible pain, riddled every nerve in his body.

After what seemed an eternity, he was finally released from the pain, and came back to himself, to hear the man (or was he a man?) laughing again. He watched as the tall inhuman shape in the cloak began to leave the room, then turned to give a word of final parting.

"Remember," Voldemort added, "That you belong to me, in my service forever. Do not forget, slave. And tell your Sylvia that."

It was at this point that Snape awoke, turning his head back and forth on the pillow as if to erase the dream. Tell your Sylvia that…some panic made him want to go to her, and make sure she was all right. He hurriedly threw his robes back on and lit a candle. 

Only then did he realize something both terrible and terrifying, something that stopped him momentarily in his tracks. His Dark Mark, which was normally so faded even he could barely see it, had burned black.

After a short consideration, he began to run wildly through halls and up stairs to get to Sylvia's quarters. He had never realized before how far away she was, and it seemed to take him twice as long as it normally did to reach her.

Finally he arrived, panting, at her door, and without thinking too much about it, opened it immediately. What he saw gave him little comfort. Sylvia was here, she looked safe, and she was asleep. But it was clear that she too was having a nightmare, as she thrashed about wildly.

As he got closer, he could hear her murmuring, "No…no, Tom…" He then had little doubt whom she was thinking about. Shaking her gently, he was surprised when she sat up quickly, eyes wide, in response to his method.

She looked befuddled for a moment, her eyes trying to take everything in, and then noticed his face, illuminated by the candle. She jumped.

"Sevy! You…you scared me." She put her hand to her heart, and he thought that it was not the gesture of a frightened woman but something else, something else entirely.

"I'm sorry. You were having a nightmare. So was I. I came up here to tell you about it." Now that he said it aloud, it sounded horribly stupid. For a brief moment he asked, Severus, what on earth are you doing? You've made a fool of yourself over a woman. If there was one thing you promised not to do…

Sylvia was watching him curiously, almost as if she could hear the conversation going on in his head. "What was your nightmare about?" she asked.

"I imagine it was the same as yours," he replied. "It was him, you know, and he threatened me." For some reason, he was frightened to speak aloud the name that had haunted his dream.

"Yes, and then he frightened you, didn't he? He made your mark burn," she said softly. "He did the same to me. I wonder how much of a man he is, sometimes. How did he know?"

"Sylvia, surely you don't think…it couldn't have been real!" He said this quickly, hoping that if he said it, it would be true.

"Sevy, he is alive," she answered, touching the tiny triangle above her heart again briefly. "I have not known how to tell Albus, but I imagine he guesses. I think that now it is time for him to know for sure."

"You mean that the Potter boy didn't destroy him?" He felt a great loathing at the name alone. Oh, how he hated James for his bravery, for the fact that his own son had inherited the bravery and had done something, even when he was so weak and powerless, that no one else could have done. 

But he had always dreaded, known somehow that it was true—that the Dark Lord could not die. He had seen Voldemort fortify himself against death; he himself had even brewed him potions to aid in the process.

"No, dear Harry wasn't able to completely obliterate him," she answered, and a look of sadness, or anger, passed briefly over her features. "Sometimes I wish I could go to the poor boy, take him in. I am, I think, faintly related to him, but Albus forbids it. Who am I to question him?"

"What do we do now?" Severus asked, trying to get her mind off anything even remotely connected to James Potter. He felt that she must know what would be right to do, that she could give him the wisdom he needed to stave off Voldemort.

"Nothing," she said grimly, her face tightening with resignation. "We wait, Severus. We sit and wait for him to come to us. What else could we do?"

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Yikes! What a depressing way to end my chapter! I had to do something to get rid of all the mush…Anyway, thank you, my favorite people, my wonderful reviewers. Thanks especially to my new reviewers **Mona Lusa**, **Rathera Mutimwiya, **and **Amy Lee**! Thank you so much.


	16. Rosamund's One

Chapter Sixteen Caroline Bishop Normal Caroline Bishop 2 2 2001-11-09T01:42:00Z 2001-11-09T01:44:00Z 3 1411 8047 Lee Company 67 16 9882 9.4402 

**A/N: **I feel horrible! It's been three months since I posted a new chapter! Oh, please forgive me, everyone. I suppose part of it was ffnet's various troubles, and my own laziness. I PROMISE that I will update more regularly from here on out. I swear it!

**Chapter Sixteen**

He followed Sylvia, rather hesitantly, to Dumbledore's office. It was still late at night and the corridors were completely deserted, save for an odd ghost here and there.

        "Are you sure he will be in there at this time of night?" Snape whispered to the figure ahead of him.

        "Yes, he'll be there," she answered. "I have never known Albus to get a decent night's sleep in his life."

        "And you know this from personal experience?" 

For this comment, he received a cold glare and a, "Don't be cute, Severus."

        "I wasn't," he muttered to himself, hoping she couldn't hear him. He still found it very strange that she and the current Headmaster had, at one point, probably been more than friends.

        When they reached the stone gargoyle that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office, they both murmured, "sugar quills" at the same time, and the gargoyle moved aside chivalrously to allow them inside.

        They were silent all the way up the winding staircase, and it was only when they reached the heavy door that Sylvia spoke again.

        She looked distinctly nervous. "I need to do this," she said, almost as if she was trying to encourage herself.

        "You can do this," he affirmed, touching her shoulder briefly. She nodded, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

        They heard the old man give a welcoming "Come in" and so they did. The Headmaster was sitting behind his desk, poring over what looked to be old pieces of parchment. He glanced up at them briefly and gave a small smile. "Sylvia, Severus, it is a pleasure to see you at this time of night, though I confess that I am not surprised it doesn't happen more often. Is something amiss?"

        "Albus, I get the feeling that you may already know what I am about to tell you," Sylvia began.

        "It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Dumbledore said, an odd note coming into his voice. "I congratulate you on your courage to tell him the truth at last. Is that what this is about?"

        "No, Headmaster," Snape replied, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at Albus' tone of voice.

        "Albus, I believe that someone besides Severus now knows about this," Sylvia interjected, biting her lip a little nervously.

        The Headmaster gave her a shrewd look. "Do you mean Voldemort?"

        She touched her hand to her breast briefly. "Yes, Albus."

        "So he is still there. Harry Potter did not completely destroy him," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

        "He may still be there, Albus, but he is obviously not strong. He is hurt…he needs help…" Sylvia said somewhat weakly. Snape noticed as she took in a deep breath of air, as if trying to calm herself—or, perhaps, alleviate the pain.

        "I would imagine so," Dumbledore replied.

        Sylvia suddenly burst forth with something she had clearly wanted to say for a while. "I'm sorry that I did not tell you sooner." She looked guilty.

        Dumbledore waved aside her comment. "Please, Sylvia, you must know that I expected you to say this. From what I have heard from my information-gatherers," he shifted his gaze to Snape, "Voldemort took too many precautions against death to be completely eliminated. No, he will need to be made mortal again for that to happen." He looked thoughtful.

        "Albus, do you mean that…" Sylvia trailed off as the two stared at each other intently. Snape was reminded of the memory in that club long ago when they had seemed to be the only two people in the world. Dumbledore nodded slightly, and Sylvia looked worried.

        "Dr. Oliver," Snape said, using such a formal title because he was slightly worried at the way they were looking at one another. At his words, both turned to him, a little surprised. "If he…he is still alive, then are you not in pain? As I recall, the Natalis Spell is supposed to tell you when your heir is in need of succor. If your heir," he realized as he said the words that he was dancing around Voldemort's name, but he was still afraid,  "if he is still alive, but he is wounded, don't you feel it? Aren't you—"

        "In constant pain?" she said, finishing the sentence for him. "Don't worry about me, Professor Snape," she added, slightly mocking him and his formal title for her, "I have grown rather used to it. It doesn't bother me much, save for the occasional flare-up now and then."

        "Oh, Sylvia," he murmured, wanting to reach for her hand but too afraid to do so, at least with Dumbledore watching the both of them as closely as an old spinster acting as chaperone. 

        "Albus, I am sorry to have disturbed you at this time of night, but I thought that this news was important," she said, almost ignoring Snape's outburst.

        "Please do not consider it an intrusion, Dr. Oliver. You are always welcome in my office. And I wish you both a good night," Dumbledore said merrily, but he looked weary and his face was lined with care.

***

Snape didn't quite know what to do with himself for the next several days. He didn't remember being this winsome with Cassandra, but perhaps this had been because he had not felt that she reciprocated so strongly any kind of passion for him as he did with Sylvia. He floated through his classes, much to the shock and surprise of his students, and kept giving Grayson Oliver extra points for rather ridiculous things, such as 'good analytical thinking' and 'keen grasp of potion making'. 

        The excavation at the archeological site had begun again as the ground slowly thawed and he often wandered out to the great maw in the earth where Sylvia, Sophie, and Rosamund spent so many hours a day. He was always greeted warmly by Sylvia (although she often warned him not to touch anything), and Sophie smiled at him as though her face would break with happiness.

        The only dismal face in the array was continually Rosamund's. She would glare at the two other women and would occasionally cast pitiful glances at Snape, as though asking him to help her. He certainly did feel pity for her, because he knew how she felt. He remembered all too well the pain of feeling unloved and alone.

        One day he decided to ask Sylvia about Rosamund. He was surprised to find that she tried to skirt the question.

        "Sevy, I don't know what you mean. There is nothing wrong with Rosamund. What on earth gives you that idea?" she asked. The two were comfortably ensconced in Sylvia's bedroom, talking earnestly on the bed as they were wont to do. The discussion had veered from the normal topic of philosophy to many different things, and finally to Rosamund.

        "Come, Sylvia, you can't tell me that you don't notice how sullen she always is. What happened to her? When did she become this way? She seems so sad."

        Sighing, Sylvia began the story. "It was in the 18th century. I was in Rome with a…friend…of mine, and she came to visit me. She fell promptly in love with my, uh, friend, and asked him to run away with her. But he was in love with me, and rejected her. She was pierced to the core, and she came to me in deep anguish, telling me that neither of us should seek out our One, that we should remain immortal forever and love only one another. 

        "I could not accede to this. She doesn't understand what it is to be the eldest of the Three, but I constantly feel it when Nature is imbalanced. I could not live forever with that feeling. I needed to find my One, and I tried to explain it to her, but she was too hurt to listen. She left and I did not see her again until earlier this century."

        "Do you think she will change her mind when she finds her One?" Snape asked, watching Sylvia's face closely.

        "I don't know, Sevy. I don't know what to do for her. I don't think she wants to find her One, and I do not think she will trust him. I really feel that it's my responsibility to make sure that she settles down. I have always felt that way."

        "But—but mightn't it be centuries before she finds her One?" Sevy asked. Somehow the idea of Sylvia waiting this long to give up her immortality was not pleasing to him. 

        "I suppose it might, but I don't think it will be. I always had the notion, and I know it sounds odd, but I thought that she would find her One before I did." She looked embarrassed to have said such a thing out loud. 

        "Obviously she did not," Snape said a little more harshly than he had intended.

        "It is not over yet," Sylvia replied cryptically, and a strange look came into her eyes. He then saw her inevitably touch the mark right over her heart.

        "You cannot tell me that this has something to do with him…you cannot tell me that everything has something to do with him!" Snape said angrily, and her head snapped up.

        "I said nothing about him, Sevy! It is you, I think, that supposes that everything is related to him, because he is the one thing that frightens you!" She sounded suddenly defensive.

        "And what if he is? Is it not a mark of my courage that he is the only thing that frightens me? As I see it, there is nothing more terrifying than him, alive and malicious, and scheming to return to his full power," Snape said, becoming defensive himself.

        She sighed. "Oh, Sevy, it all comes full circle, doesn't it? I cannot escape him, and I will never be able to, will I?"

        "What if you won't?" he asked rhetorically. "Will any of us?" So the two sat, brooding on the thought of an evil man, alive and malicious, and scheming to return to full power.

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Okay, not the best ending of a chapter, I know, but I ran out of ideas. Anyway, there are some subtle hints in there, hints which I hope to follow up in an eventual sequel. I hope you liked it! Oh, and thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! Y'all are the best!


	17. Werewolves and Paranoia

**A/N: **This chapter features Mallory O'Kenly, a heroine of great note who is featured in my most darling Severa's "The Raven and the Dove", which I highly recommend. So read about Mally and her partner Medyr, and see Severus get ridiculously jealous. Also, behold the proper British sex talk between Sylvia and Sevy. Enjoy!

**Chapter Seventeen**

Snape wondered why time had to pass so quickly when you were happy, and so slowly when you were unhappy. The next weeks seemed a blur as he and Sylvia stayed up all night talking and laughing, studying philosophy, and enjoying one another's company. There was no single memory of the time that stood out to him—when he thought about it, he just felt contented.

He was contented and happy and peaceful, three things he had never been, until late March, when the trees were budding and the flowers were beginning to poke their heads out of the damp earth, and work on the archeological site was going along at a pace. Sylvia had confided in Snape that they were searching for personal items of the Four Founders, and Rosamund soon made a shocking discovery of a portion of Slytherin's journal. 

Everyone was so exhilarated at this prospect that Sylvia and Snape spent an entire rainy Saturday locked up in her room, madly trying to decipher it, only to discover that Slytherin was merely discussing the right weather for planting perennials. 

"Why would Salazar Slytherin have any interest in perennials?" Snape asked exasperatedly; he certainly had never considered his House's founder as the type that was an avid gardener. He was also not sure that he wanted to.

"Oh, Salazar loved gardening," Sylvia, much to Snape's chagrin, confirmed. "Every year he got out his mattock and attacked a patch of land back behind the castle. By midsummer it was blooming beautifully."

"Sylvia, you've got to be kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm—" She was interrupted by a soft knock on her door. "Come in!" she called.

And that was when Snape's peace of mind that he had been so pleased with for the last few weeks dissipated. The person at the door was a very wet Remus Lupin.

"Remus, what on earth are you doing here?" Sylvia asked good-naturedly. Lupin was still standing in the doorway, staring at Snape. "Come in, please, you're soaking wet," she added, and he walked slowly into the room, staring at Snape.

"Remus," Snape said coldly, sneering at him; he knew he had the advantage.

"Hullo, Severus," Lupin said softly, looking away. And suddenly, a strange thing happened. Snape began to feel sorry for the man. He resolved not to say another word.

"Remus, you're sopping," Sylvia said, bustling about her room purposely. "Let me get you something to dry off with."

"No, it's fine," Lupin replied, and muttering a spell, he dried his clothes. Immediately Sylvia stopped bustling. "I…uh…I'm just in town for a few days and I thought I would stop by and see you."

"I'm very glad that you did," she answered warmly.

Feeling he had to at least say something, Snape piped up with, "So what brings you to town, Remus?" He only hoped that the words came out without any sarcasm.

"Actually, there's a laboratory over in Ireland that I need to visit. Two sci-wizards there have come up with a new potion for my uh…my ailment, called the Wolfsbane potion. I am going to be a test subject for it."

"My, Remus, Ireland is such a long way from Hogsmeade," Snape commented sarcastically. "And it seems like you haven't really explained why you're at Hogwarts." Sylvia glared at him, and he was instantly remorseful. He mused momentarily that he had given her the power to make him feel remorseful. What had she given him in return?

"I am here to speak with Dumbledore, Severus," Lupin replied a little coldly, his gold eyes unruffled. "You must remember that I have been living in America for the last few years. Seen in that light, the distance between Hogsmeade and Ireland does not seem so great."

"Oh yes, America," Snape said nastily. "That's where you take all of them, isn't it, Sylvia? Riddle, Lupin…am I next? When do we leave?"

"Severus, please," Sylvia murmured.

"A-actually, there was another reason I came," Lupin said with a touch of hesitation. "Sylvia, I need someone to come with me to Ireland. The side effects of the potion are unknown, and they say that I need someone to monitor me."

"We would love to come," Snape said immediately. 

"We?" Sylvia asked.

"Yes. I want to know what goes into this potion. You know, such things are my specialty," Snape replied in his most patronizing tone.

***

This was how he found himself in Dublin, the home of the Irish ministry of magic, the next weekend, with Sylvia and Remus Lupin, all three sleeping in different bedrooms. He was paranoid, and he knew it, but he wondered how sure he was that they were sleeping in different bedrooms. After all, Lupin had already had Sylvia as much and as often as he wanted, but Severus Snape had not had this pleasure.

I am Sylvia's One…I am Sylvia's One…I am Sylvia's One…He repeated this mantra to himself often, but inevitably he next thought, then why in the bloody hell won't she sleep with me?

He was up all night asking himself these sorts of questions, and desperately listening for any noise on the other side of his wall, where Sylvia was sleeping.

At about 2 in the morning, he heard voices, and panicked. It was Sylvia and Lupin talking, he could tell. He listened intently for quite a while, not sure if he should break in and join their party or eavesdrop like some sort of bad private investigator. For some reason, this made him think of his old family friend Janus Quirrell…oh Lord, his thoughts were rambling. He had to get control of himself.

In the end, he sat there debating for so long that the voices stopped, he heard a door opening and closing, and he assumed that Lupin had left. Or had he? Had he, perhaps, gone into the bathroom, knowing that Snape was listening, and trying to fool him? Severus Snape, get a grip, he told himself, and for the love of Merlin, go to sleep.

The next day the three of them proceeded to the Irish ministry of magic, and after having gained admittance, made their way down to one of the lower levels. Remus and Sylvia were talking quietly together and Snape felt distinctly left out.

When they reached the basement where they had been headed, a young woman in her early twenties greeted them. She looked remarkably innocent, her light blond hair caught up in a braid, her blue eyes empty of any kind of dissemination, and her skin delicately pale.

"Mallory O'Kenly," she was saying to Sylvia, who was shaking her hand warmly.

"Thank you so much," Sylvia said, "You have no idea how much this is going to help us."

Us? Snape thought. Who is us?

"Now, if you can just wait here a moment," O'Kenly said in her rich Irish brogue, gesturing to the chairs set in front of two desks, "I will go get my partner and we can examine Mr. Lupin."

The three of them sat down, Sylvia in the middle, as Mallory O'Kenly stepped through a door behind her desk into what was presumably the laboratory. Snape found the seating arrangement incredibly ironic, as well as a little telling.

All three were eagerly looking towards the laboratory door when a young man walked in briskly from the other door. Sylvia rose to greet him, and Lupin followed suit.

The man approached Sylvia first, looking her up and down with more than just cursory attention. "Medyr Lewis," he said almost seductively, "very pleased to meet you. Don't tell me such a lovely young lady as yourself is a werewolf."

"Young seems to be not so applicable," she said a bit coldly, "as I am over two thousand years old."

"Well. My." Medyr seemed at a loss for words.

"And I am the werewolf," Lupin added, shaking hands fiercely with the man. 

"Ah, there you are, Medyr," O'Kenly said, appearing from the laboratory, having heard her partner's voice in the outer room. "Are you ready to look him over?"

"Yes, of course," Mallory's partner responded, and the two led Lupin into the laboratory, leaving Sylvia and Snape alone.

They sat in relative silence for quite a while before Snape suddenly spoke his mind. "Why are we here, Sylvia?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you agree to come here with Lupin? Do you still have feelings for him?"

"As I recall, Sevy, you were the one who pledged us both to come here."

He waved that off. "Do you still have feelings for him? You didn't answer."

"I hardly think it would be possible not to, having known him for a good bit of his life."

"Dammit, Sylvia, why won't you sleep with me?" He hadn't meant to say this. "You certainly didn't refrain with…with…him!"

"Sevy, I don't know…I don't know what to say. Did you expect something from me?" She seemed very embarrassed, and afraid.

Now he was embarrassed. He certainly hadn't expected the discussion to come to this point. "I just…the first night, when you told me that I was your One…I tried to…but you wouldn't let me." He suddenly realized how properly British he sounded, not even able to complete a sentence on this delicate subject.

He could see her fighting with what to say, and after a long silence, she finally responded. "Sevy, I love you so much—" He tried to interrupt but she wouldn't let him. "I really do. But…but I'm scared. Zeus, Sevy, I am so afraid."

"Of what?" he scarcely dared to breathe. He had no idea what she meant.

"Of dying," she whispered. "I don't know what it's like…what will happen? I've watched so many people die but I've never thought…and if I am with you, if I become pregnant…I will die."

"Oh, Sylvia…" He didn't know what to say. 

"Just give me time, Sevy. Let's wait until I am ready. Please?"

"Of course. Until you are ready," he repeated, hoping that it wouldn't be long. But as they sat in the uncomfortable chairs outside the laboratory waiting for Lupin, he felt a weight escape from his chest, and realized how free he felt.

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We're just pretending that Sylvia doesn't know what "safe sex" is, seeing as she has had no reason to know in the past, so bear with me there. Please. In our next installment, Lupin will get his Wolfsbane Potion, a rivalry will ensue at Hogwarts, and the end of the year (and thus the resolution of the story) will near approach. 

Thanks to all my reviews! Y'all are the best ever! (Especially Normandie M, and swift footed E, my newest reviewers!) Normandie and Severa, I hope you caught my reference to Ian Hart, and to Janus (which is Sevvie's first name for Master Quirrell). Both of these lovely ladies have wonderful stories on Quirrell, both of which I recommend. Well, that's it. Y'all come back now, hear?


	18. Odi et Amo

**A/N: **Well, this is it. The last chapter. Get out your hankies, everyone, because you're in for a wet ride. And I must give a special thank you to my very own Severa for inspiring me to finally finish my story. If you find yourselves interested in the topic of Severa and I, you can read all about our adventures in her "Rubida Luna" and about her (alas, less of me) in Normandie M's "Redemption". By the way, the random mention of Mally in this chapter is to clear up a little boo-boo I made in the last one. Enjoy it, my friends. 

**Chapter Eighteen**

They returned to Hogwarts with Lupin, who had decided to stay on another month or so to watch the effects of the potion on his affliction. He and Sylvia could often be seen walking and talking seriously out past the archeological site, where the flowers were beginning to bud and spring was in the air. 

As the Easter holidays came and went, Snape watched them carefully. Sylvia claimed that the two were merely close friends, but he often wondered how close they could be. 

He did not want to ask, because he did not want it to seem that he was prying, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if there was still anything between them. 

This sneaking suspicion was reinforced by Rosamund, whom he met again in the library late one night, reading intently in the Restricted Section, as she was wont to do. Sometimes he wondered what sort of books she read there. 

"Rosamund," he said as warmly as he could; though he often felt he empathized with the girl, she still sometimes unnerved him.

"Oh, hello Severus," she said, smiling a little coldly at him. "How are you this fine evening?"

"As well as I should be," he replied; for he too knew how to be cold. 

"And how are things with Sylvia?" she asked with a sneer.

"Look," he growled, teeth bared, coming closer to her. She shrank away subconsciously. "I don't know what it is you have against Sylvia, but I think you need to get over it in a hurry. You're the only one that has this sort of hatred for her."

"Perhaps that's good!" she said defensively. "Master Snape, perhaps all these people who say that she is good and wholesome and perfect, perhaps they are the ones that make it worse for her! She is not incapable of hate," Rosamund added, "nor of fear, nor of hurting someone…" She gave Snape a pointed look. "…As one of my encounters with her clearly shows. Perhaps it is I, Master Snape, who keep her from the status of goddess that the rest of you clearly try to adorn her with."

"She is not incapable of hurting someone…" Snape repeated softly. "What do you mean by that, Rosamund?"

"What I mean I do not say," she replied. "But I think you shall know soon enough. Yes, soon enough you shall know that she can hate as strongly as she can love."

***

The school year slowly slipped away, and as Snape assigned final projects and double-checked his exams, he thought about how eventful the year had been. Never before had he been so emotionally challenged. First Cassandra (he winced now, just thinking of the name), and now Sylvia. Had he only met her in August? Sometimes he felt like he had known her forever.

Finally, the year was in its last week, and after administering the Potions exam, Snape came to talk with Sylvia. He found, however, another visitor in her room—Remus Lupin. The two had been sitting in her cozy armchairs chatting uneventfully, but this didn't allay Snape's suspicions.

After Lupin quickly left, Sylvia did the best she could to explain things. "Remus is helping me think through some things," she explained soothingly to Snape, who was not soothed in the least.

"I didn't know you had to think through things. I thought you were perfect, Sylvia. I thought you always did what was honorable and right and good and beautiful," he said sarcastically, thinking upon what Rosamund had said to him a few weeks earlier.

"Even the most good and beautiful cannot share in the Forms," she replied a little quietly. "Now, shall we continue with our study?" Over the past few days they had been reading Plato's Symposium lightly, finding it hard to be serious on the matter of love.

"Right," he said, turning to his favorite diversion, philosophy, and opening his copy of the book, which he had brought with him. Sylvia did likewise, although she did not seem to be concentrating on it. "Now, Eryximachus believes that love is…Sylvia?" She was now staring out into space.

"Oh, sorry," she said absently. "I was thinking about that doctor, Mallory O'Kenly. Remember, the one we met a few weeks ago with uh…with Remus? She looked so familiar to me. And do you know what her partner Medyr said to me?"

"I have no idea," he said dryly, not particularly caring about the doctor or her partner, and wondering what exactly had brought the thoughts of the woman, whom the two had but briefly met, to Sylvia's mind. 

"He said…" she looked off into the distance, picturing the scene as if it were happening again. "He said, 'I'm surprised, Ms. Oliver, that Mallory was so willing to touch you. She has never touched anyone else before. What's so special about you?' What indeed?"

Snape laughed. "I think that that should be obvious, Sylvia. You are the eldest of The Three, and immortal. There is something very special about you."

"Not all that special," she snapped, and Snape was surprised by her vehemence. "We still have the same emotions, the same feelings, as you do, you know. We just have longer to think about them and rue our mistakes…too long, too many thousands of years to think about it all and to rue our mistakes. I love you, Severus. I love you."

"Sylvia, what…?" He began to protest, but before he had time to fully think again about what Rosamund had said, and to consider it a premonition of sorts, she kissed him fiercely and began to strip him of his clothes, before working off her own. After this, he decided a protest would be vain, and in any case, not much in character with his former position on the matter.

*** 

He remembered, almost as if it was a dream, the feeling of a warm body pressed against his during the night, but he did not remember the feeling of her leaving. Maybe his subconscious didn't want to remember it. 

When he awoke, it was to an empty bed and a hastily scrawled note on the bedside table. Looking out the window, he saw it was already late in the morning. Then again, it had been a late night. 

Dearest and only Severus, This is the worst way possible for me to leave you. The old note by the pillow, the body missing from the bed—it's a tired cliché, isn't it? But sometimes I feel like I'm a tired cliché. I cannot write out an explanation for this; it would be better for me to say it to you face to face. But I don't think I can do that either. So I have left you a memory in my Pensieve. I hope you will look into it. Sevy, I'm so sorry. I did botch things up terribly. I have hurt you worse than she did, and I didn't mean to. But, I write too much. Just know that I do love you, no matter what you are inclined to think.

-Sylvia

Confused, he noticed her Pensieve sitting at the edge of her bed, and, not giving it another thought, touched his hand to the surface. Immediately he was sucked into her memory.

She was standing in her nightgown by the cabinet where she stored the Pensieve, the only light coming from a single candle. He assumed that this was last night. 

She began to speak, very softly as not to wake his sleeping form, prone in the nearby bed, and she looked like she was talking to herself. "Sevy, I feel…I don't even know if you'll see this…but it's the least I can do. You don't know how I love you. And—and what just happened, that was incredible. I have never felt so…so complete in my life as I did with you just now.

"It was perfect, and as I lay there afterwards, I thought about how it had been so more alive, so more real, than anything I have ever experienced. But then another thought came creeping in, and the little voice said to me, no matter how much I did not want it to…'Andromache, what if you conceived? What would happen then? You would lose it all, and you would die. And then what would we do?'

"Don't think me selfish, Severus. Please. Voldemort will return in the next few years, mark my words, and I need to be there, with my powers, to destroy him. We were the same Three that had to destroy Slytherin, and it would be letting Artemis and Axiothea down for me to be gone, for there to be another in my place. 

"I'm going away for a while, Sevy. I think it's the best thing to do. Until Voldemort comes back, I don't think…I don't think we should be tempted. Remus is going to come with me. He's always been a help to me, and I don't want to lose him.

"You have no idea how I want us to be together, Sevy. I love you so much, but I just think that we should not let our love get in the way of preventing this great evil. I hope you will understand. Please understand. And don't let the rain clouds gather in your soul—I couldn't stand for you to be gloomy. I won't stand for it. I won't let it rain on you. I've left you some more of my father's papers. I hope you enjoy them.

"I think it's time for me to go now, Severus. I love you. Don't ever forget it."

And it was over. She was gone. Yet another woman was gone from his life. The woman that fate had made for him had run away, just like everyone else he had cared about. Why shouldn't it rain on him?

***

"I noticed this morning that she was gone," Dumbledore said gently, patting Snape on the back in a desperate attempt to comfort him. "I'm sorry that it had to happen this way—this is not the Sylvia that I have known."

"She's changed," Snape said numbly, trying his best to be apathetic. "She said so herself. After…after Voldemort's evil, to which she had grown accustomed, she found herself different."

"Come, let's go for a walk outside," the Headmaster suggested. 

"Professor, it's raining," Snape pointed out, gazing out the window at the downpour.

"We shouldn't let it deter us. A little water never hurt anyone," Dumbledore replied stoutly, gathering himself up, as it were, for the task.

As they walked through the wet grounds, Dumbledore added, "She really does think that she has done what's best, Severus."

"I know," Snape said tiredly. "And that's what makes me so damn angry. Does she not think that I could restrain myself from…from being with her? That the mere sight of her is going to throw me into temptation? Gods, I could spend hours just staring at her face…at her smile…I don't need what happened last night to happen every night! I just need her, with me, and that would be enough."

Snape looked up to see the headmaster looking at him curiously. "Severus, I do believe there's something quite queer going on," Dumbledore remarked, his bead dripping profusely.

"What?" he asked darkly, slightly perturbed at the thought that the Headmaster had not been giving him his utmost attention.

"Look at this—you're not wet, not wet at all. It's almost like…like the rain is falling around you, instead of upon you."

"I won't let it rain on you…" Snape murmured. "The Three have the power to control nature, don't they, Professor Dumbledore?"

"I believe they do, yes." They walked along in silence for a while, pondering this thought, and Snape found himself angry that Sylvia had had to do something like this for him—just when he wanted to hate her. No matter how much he desired to loathe her, to be hostile and furious against her, he could not completely do it. His love still stood in the way.

"I hate and I love!" Snape suddenly and bitterly said, remembering an old line out of a Muggle poem. "Perhaps you ask me why I do this. I don't know, but I feel it happening. And I am in torment…Oh, Professor, I am in torment."

"Catullus," Dumbledore replied, nodding his gray and wet head. "A most famous poem, Severus. I did not know that you knew odi et amo."

"I think I know odi et amo well," Snape answered, "I think I know it more well now than I have ever known it in my life."

***

Don't like the way it ends?? Let me know, and I'll write an epilogue to clear it up, if I get enough requests. I was just trying to end it dramatically. And there will be a sequel you know, much more action-packed than this first one. I want to thank all of my wonderfully fabulous reviewers. The old ones, you know who you are (look back a few chapters), but special thanks to the (relatively) new ones: swift-footed-e, Normandie M, Halo and Wings, and Dogbone7. You make it all worthwhile


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